Amalgum – Lockhart's Folly
by tkepner
Summary: Death wants free of its Master and proposes sending Harry back in time to avoid the unnecessary deaths in fighting Voldemort. Harry readily accepts, thinking he'll start anew as a Firstie. Instead, Harry's soul, magic, and memories end up at the beginning of Second Year — in GILDEROY LOCKHART!
1. Chapter 1

2017/2/20 - minor edit.

 **Amalgum – Lockhart's Folly**

Death wants free of its Master and proposes sending Harry back in time to avoid the unnecessary deaths in fighting Voldemort. Harry readily accepts, thinking he'll start anew as a Firstie. Instead, Harry's soul, magic, and memories end up at the beginning of Second Year — in GILDEROY LOCKHART!

This produces a new person altogether: a person with the memories, loyalty, and strengths of Harry Potter, and the ostentatious, flamboyant, publicity-hound tendencies of the fraud known as Lockhart. An "Amalgum."

This story comes from the abandoned "Amalgum" by (10,700 words) who has graciously released the story to anyone who likes the idea and wants to finish it. I've noticed very little fanfiction using Lockhart as the hero and I thought his premise had much merit. I have considerably expanded and reorganized my version.

Like all fanfiction, I post this work at Fanfiction Net with the kind forbearance of the owners of the Harry Potter fiction franchise, J.K. Rowling, and her publishers. I claim nothing of note, as removing all references to her Harry Potter universe would render my story nonsensical. Not to mention unreadable.

A high quality version of the cover photo is available from Magical Three HQ Gallery.

( _Yes, I know that the correct term is amalgam, not amalgum, when referring to a mixture or blend to two dis-similar materials. However, Amalgum was the original spelling used by and so I continued to use it._ )

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 **Author's Note:** J.K.R. set the exchange rate for galleons to pounds at 1:5. In 1992/3 the _average_ British citizen earned £10,000 pounds a year, a person considered in the elite top 1% earned £46,000. Because the Wizards have nearly the same economy that means the _average_ Wizard earned 2,000 galleons a year. With an estimated population of 100,000 the gross economy of Wizarding Britain is 168 million galleons. This places an upper limit on wealth for the richest Wizards. There are no billionaires, and bloody few millionaires. (For comparison, the first multimillionaire in the U.S. was John Jacob Astor, at $20 million net worth when he died 1848. The US economy at the time was $1.5 billion. Reducing both by one zero makes a fair approximation for Wizarding Britain, thus 2 million galleons is a reasonable "richest person" limit – I would have used a British example, but all the Google hits were for game show winners).

Also, net worth includes not only money in a bank, but properties, residences, items, and businesses owned. Typically, most individuals have a ratio of 60-70% of their net worth in "fixed assets," that is, property, equipment, inventory, and buildings. Thus, our galleon millionaire, for every million galleons, would have only 300-400 thousand in actual free galleons, sickles and knuts. This is the money left in the bank each month _after_ adding all monthly income and paying all monthly bills — a positive number after calculating the income-minus-outgo means the wealth is growing, a negative number means you're spending your principle.

There is also the convention that in most of the U.K., what the Americans call lunch and dinner, respectively, are called dinner and tea (supper).

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 _(6/4 - minor editing changes)_

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 **Chapter 1. Dining Hall** **Disaster**

Professor McGonagall led the new Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry students, the Firsties, from the East Hall into the Great Hall where waited the rest of the student body. It was time to sort the new students into one of the school's four houses, Gryffindor, Slytherin, Hufflepuff, or Ravenclaw. One-by-one the new students' names were called. One-by-one each student sat on the sorting stool and put on the Sorting Hat. One-by-one the Sorting Hat placed each student in the dormitory that would be their home for the next seven years, accompanied by the applause and cheers of their new family.

They were midway through the sorting when the Headmaster startled, jerking his head up in surprise and shooting a look at Potions Master Severus Snape.

Professor Lockhart, the newest addition to the staff, had been waiting for just such a sign. His alert charm on the Whomping Willow would have sufficed, but seeing the Castle's protective enchantments alert the Headmaster as soon as the boys crossed them gave him a few moments more warning.

It was _show time_!

He jumped up onto the teachers table just as his alert charm arrived. He pulled something out of his pocket. It rapidly expanded and the shocked students saw it was a new _Nimbus 2001_. To their amazement, he climbed on it and shot out over the heads of awestruck students and out the open Great Hall doors seconds later. Shocked silence filled the hall.

A lone voice from the Gryffindor table broke the silence. "Well, usually, our new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor . . . ," said one redheaded student, either Fred or George, but definitely a Weasley.

". . . takes an entire year . . . ," said the other one.

". . . to rush out of the castle."

"This one didn't even . . . ,"

". . . make it to the Feast!"

The Wizards laughed aloud at the comment as the Witches shrieked in horror. It took two minutes for the commotion to die down, and that was only when the Headmaster made a loud bang with his wand.

After conferring briefly with the Headmaster, the Potions Professor, Severus Snape, headed for the Professor's Entrance at the side of the Headmaster's Table. The stern Depute Headmistress and Transfiguration Professor, Minerva McGonagall, said, "I think there is a proper explanation for this . . . ."

But before she could continue, the missing D.A.D.A. professor walked back into the dining hall with his hands on the shoulders of two students covered in tree debris. He cleaned their robes with a simple spell and almost everyone could identify them as the legendary Boy-Who-Lived and the loud-mouthed sixth Weasley, Ronald.

He casually asked them, his voice clear and loud in the silent hall, "Now that we are nice and safe, Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley," removing all doubt as to the identity of the two students trying to sink into the floor in shame, "would you like to eat something?" He smiled, showing his sparkling pearly white teeth to great effect on the females in the room.

"I am not hungry, sir," the Boy-Who-Lived replied. Showing a great amount of restraint for his bottomless stomach even as it growled in protest, Ron nodded in agreement with his best friend.

"That's excellent. Now that the pleasantries are finished, ahem," the professor cleared his voice, and then his face turned red as he shouted, " _WHAT IN THE NAME OF MERLIN'S BEARD ARE TWO STUDENTS DOING ON THE TOP OF THE WHOMPING WILLOW IN A MUGGLE CAR?_ "

The professors had been waiting uneasily for the aforementioned two students since the other students' arrival half-an-hour previously. It was only when the two had _not_ appeared with their best friend in the Great Hall with the other students that they understood something was amiss. Now they gaped at the professor and his two charges in horror.

Hermione Granger had been nearly sobbing after finding her two best friends still missing from the Great Hall when the Sorting started. Based on her expression now, though, she clearly didn't know whether to be relieved or horrified at their entrance. She seemed to be leaning towards horrified anger.

Professor Snape grimaced and held up the evening version of _The Daily Prophet_ , which clearly showed a flying car over Kings Cross Station. Ron gulped at that and took a step back.

Lockhart quickly caught him by his shoulder, yanked him back into place, and shouted again, " _WHEN I ASK A QUESTION, IT MEANS I NEED AN ANSWER. SPEAK_ _UP_ _!_ " When both students found the floor of the Great Hall very interesting, Lockhart asked the nearby Prefect, Percy Weasley, "To which House do these two idiots belong?"

"Gryffindor, sir," was the prompt, albeit reluctant, response.

"Then a hundred points from Gryffindor for skipping the Sorting Feast — and _disrespecting_ the new students, the staff, _and_ your fellow students — and venturing into the forest at this hour, _EACH_. And a week's detention, _EACH_." The whole hall gawked at them in wonder. The Gryffindor House students were eyeing them murderously for losing _two hundred points_ before the year even began, planting the House firmly in the negative. Many of the Slytherin House students were cackling in glee, or grinning broadly at the very least.

"We never ventured out, sir" the black-haired boy replied, tremulously, "We were just coming back to school." He swallowed. "We missed the Hogwarts Express."

"In that case, _Mr. Potter_ , kindly fill us with your fantastic tale of coming back to school," the D.A.D.A. Professor snapped. "Does it include riding hippogriffs, out-flying dragons, besting Trolls, rescuing a fair maiden, and battling an evil Wizard at great risk to your own life?" The Half-blood and Pure-blood students laughed at the blatant references to the Boy-Who-Lived's children books. The last three, though, got a sharp look from Harry and a bushy-haired Witch at the Gryffindor table, Hermione Granger. Ron was too busy staring miserably at the floor to notice what was said in particular.

Blushing furiously, Harry started, "I don't mean any disrespect sir, but . . . ."

The Potions Professor at the front of the Hall cut him off, "You two dunderheads have breached the Statute of Secrecy by magically flying a car in front of muggles."

"Ah, very well. In that case, Mr. Potter, please come with me to the Headmaster's Table and _explain_ your little act of mischief before the entire hall," said Gilderoy. "I'm _sure_ the students will learn a very important lesson from that as we get this sorted." Lockhart pushed the two students towards the front of the hall. Both boys were horrified at that, but, within a moment, Harry Potter screwed up his courage and walked slowly towards the Headmaster's Table while a horror-stricken Ron stood rooted in place.

Harry stopped in front of his Head of House and began. "I am extremely sorry ma'am but if you are willing to listen, I wish to explain," Professor McGonagall. The Slytherins hooted in delighted amusement at his humiliation. When the stern Professor nodded silently, lips pressed tightly together, he continued, "We were already running late at Kings Cross Station and we could not cross the magical barrier there. We panicked and took Mr. Weasley's car hoping to catch the Hogwarts Express and get here on time. But the car went lopsided when we reached here and landed on the Whomping Willow."

"You say you could not cross the barrier, Mr. Potter," McGonagall said, "Could you elaborate?"

He did.

"You _could_ have waited outside the barrier for some parent or staff to come back and sought _their_ help," Lockhart said when the black-haired Wizard finished. He had followed the boy, dragging the other behind with a firm and painful grip on his arm. "You _could_ have waited for Mr. Weasley to return, I'm sure he hadn't planned on staying at the train station _all day_. Or you _could_ have owled your predicament to your Head of the House with your familiar, Hedwig, whom I see you had with you in the car.

"But _no_ , that would have been smart. That would have been using you head for something other than a Bludger target. Instead, you _stole_ Mr. Weasley's car. Instead, you flew straight ahead to Hogwarts, which by your elaborate and detailed tale you didn't know the way to. You could have _killed_ yourselves or put someone in grave jeopardy. You understand that, _boy_?" This struck a nerve in Harry. The emotions the new D.A.D.A. professor brought up by sounding _exactly_ like his Uncle Vernon, right down to that detestable tone, were devastating And, by his expression, Gilderoy let the boy know he knew just _how_ devastating his tone had been. "Not to mention breaking the Statute of Secrecy and wasting hours of Ministry time as the Obliviators try to correct your dunderheaded error, _boy_." Professor Snape appeared startled, and then pleased, at the use of his favourite epitaph.

"I understand that now, sir," Harry said, visibly controlling his anger. "I am very sorry for any disturbance I, we, may have created. I also apologize for causing you, or anyone else, any trouble over this. I'm sorry, sir. Very sorry. I shan't do it again."

"I say what you did was very foolish of you, _boy,_ " Lockhart continued in the same grating "Uncle Vernon" tone.

The blonde-haired professor struggled to keep his face stern. It was clear from Harry's expression that no matter how angry he got and no matter how much he wished to punch straight through Lockhart's face, he was going to hold his temper and behave as he behaved with his uncle. He had unfortunately learned that lesson early in his childhood. "Then, yes sir, I am very foolish. I'm sorry, sir, I will try to do better. I am willing to take any punishment for my foolish act," he replied.

The professor smiled at hearing this. He beamed at the boy and looked up across the many students in the Great Hall. He said, "All learning begins when one accepts one is foolish. Especially as a child. It requires a good amount of thought and understanding of oneself to accept that. And for this understanding, you receive ten points. Given that you have no _proper_ background in magical ways and yet you are quick to realize you're wrong and promptly apologized appropriately, I award ten more points. Approaching staff and teachers without any prevaricating or complaint when required in a situation such as this is also a good trait. For that, you receive ten more points. It takes a good amount of courage to admit one's wrongdoing in front of a gathering of your peers despite the fear of them mocking you for doing what is right, ten more points. For excellent presence of mind while _on_ the Whomping Willow, I award you ten more. In addition, I reduce the original one-hundred point penalty to fifty," Lockhart finished, leaving everybody awestruck.

The smarter students had worked out that that meant Harry Potter had cost his House no points at all! Smiles were breaking out across the Gryffindor table.

Neither the students nor the teachers knew what was happening. Dumbledore usually took or awarded points for such misdeeds or accomplishments when in the Great Hall. This new professor not only had taken two hundred points, but also readily awarded fifty. Before the mass of students and professors could recover, Ron indignantly cried out, "Hey, _I_ drove the car. Shouldn't _I_ be awarded some points?"

With a smirk, Lockhart turned to the boy. "I don't assume you have a valid Muggle Driver's License, do you?" At the boy's blank look, he continued, "And yet you had the audacity to take one of your _father's_ projects, misuse it badly, and put another student's life in hazard while breaking numerous laws which you, _as a Pureblood_ , should be _well_ aware of!

"And I had to _drag_ you to the Headmaster's Table where you _still_ haven't apologized for your irresponsible and poorly planned conduct. The original one-hundred points stand, your detention starts _Monday_ _next_." And, conveniently, the night after Harry finished his last detention. Keeping the boys separated and preventing Ron from holding Harry back intellectually, romantically, and socially, was one of Lockhart's goals.

"And for _both_ of you, your parents _will be_ notified."

Ron stared at him, face white in shock and appalled that his ploy for points had backfired. Before he could say anything, though, Gilderoy turned him sideways and gave him a slight nudge towards the Gryffindor table. He caught the eye of the nearby sixth year, Percy, who had followed them up to the Headmaster's Table, "Here, take this fool and try to keep him out of trouble for the rest of the evening."

Lockhart turned back to Harry and nodded his head towards Hermione, "Go sit with your friend," he said softly, giving the boy his best ' _I understand and forgive you, I know you didn't do it on purpose_ ,' smile. "I think she was worried about you," he added in an undertone only Harry could hear. The hall watched in silence as Ron's older brother escorted the sullen boy to a spot at the Gryffindor Table while a relieved Harry quickly headed over to his anxious female friend.

"Now that our new Defence Against Dark Arts professor, Mr. Gilderoy Lockhart, has completed the task of awarding and removing points . . . ," Dumbledore announced, eyes twinkling.

At the confirmation of their suspicions about the Wizard's presence at the school — the Weasley twins had been guessing — the female students in Hogwarts' Great Hall sighed loudly. The male students, not nearly as happy, groaned — indeed, many showed faces of disgust.

Professor Lockhart was wearing elegant robes of forget-me-not blue that exactly matched his eyes; his pointed wizard's hat was set at a jaunty angle on his wavy blonde hair; and he was smiling broadly to show off all his flawless teeth. He looked good and he knew it! He waved cheerfully to his adoring fans as he returned to his seat at the Headmaster's Table. Deep sighs from the females in the room, and their admiring looks, seemed to make his smile shine even brighter. The handsome Wizard took a moment to soak in the attention, not noticing, or not deigning to notice, the dark looks the males in his audience were shooting his way. His easy manner with the Witches filled them with jealousy and suspicion — no one could be as good as that Wizard seemed to be. And watching as their girlfriends fawned over the Wizard merely flamed the fires their resentment and envy.

Dumbledore continued, ". . . I think we should finish the Sorting"

The rest of the Sorting Feast passed quietly, especially at the Gryffindor table. But if glares could speak, the entire Gryffindor table yelled at Ron Weasley the entire time. The other tables were stunned into whispered conversations, worried that the new D.A.D.A. professor might take offense and start docking _them_ points.

Both the Headmaster and Professor Snape spent the time studying Gilderoy while he laughed and flirted with Professors Sprout, McGonagall, and Sinistra. Professor Trelawney looked jealous that her seat was too far from the man to engage him in conversation.

Dumbledore was dumbfounded. _This_ Wizard was not the fraud he had requested teach the students this year. The Headmaster had intended to expose the Wizard this year as the charlatan he was to the world. On the other hand, maybe this was just a fluke.

If it weren't impossible, he would have said that Lockhart _knew_ the two young Wizards were going to crash into that tree and had been prepared all along to rescue them. And how had he known when they had crashed? He couldn't have felt the protective enchantments react to their presence; the Castle's protective enchantments only reported intrusions to the Headmaster. It was a mystery, and the Headmaster disliked mysteries.

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Gilderoy, smiling his trademark smile — and yes, it really was trademarked . . . and insured — sat leaning against his desk as the Second Years walked in. Harry was sulking at his desk, trying to hide behind a tower of Lockhart the Fraud's books.

It was much harder being here in the past than he had thought. Lockhart used that smile and smarmy exterior to hide the pain he felt seeing his friends alive again. He wanted to grab them and hug them, to tell them that they weren't going to die this time. To rejoice that they were alive, unscarred, and just so _young_. Watching Neville walk into the classroom so hesitantly, knowing that he had died saving the lives of a Muggle-born's family while taking half-a-dozen Death Eaters with him, was heartbreaking. He felt tears gathering at the edges of his eyes seeing them all, even the Slytherins. He wasn't sure how he would have handled this as a twelve-year-old again. He coped by retreating and letting Gilderoy control things. Gilderoy didn't know these students. Gilderoy had a happy childhood. Gilderoy did not have repeating nightmares watching his friends die horrific deaths in battles with vicious Dark Wizards.

When the whole class was seated, Lockhart cleared his throat loudly and silence fell. He reached forward, picked up Neville Longbottom's copy of _Travels with Trolls_ , and held it up to show his own, winking portrait on the front.

"Me," he said, pointing at it and winking as well. "Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defence League, and five-time winner of _Witch Weekly's_ Most-Charming-Smile Award — but I don't talk about that. I didn't get rid of the Bandon Banshee by smiling at her!"

He waited for them to laugh; a few smiled weakly. The Witches mostly sighed.

"I want everyone's undivided attention in this class as I present you with the preeminent opportunity to learn Defence Against Dark Arts, a field in which I am uniquely qualified." If they only knew just _how_ unique his qualifications truly _were_!

He beamed at the class cheerfully, "Based on what other classes mentioned about your previous Professors I worry you might be extremely misinformed. Worry not my dear young fellows, because I have accepted the task of teaching you something that you are seriously lacking and believe me, I am usually successful in my ventures. To that end, we're starting the class with a simple test to see just what you know."

The class groaned.

"Nothing that complicated, twenty questions, just a simple assessment of what you know. It will not count against you, I assure you! Don't even put your names down. I want your honest answers, no cheating! Cheating hurts you, _not_ me. Answer as quickly as you can, skip any you are not positive of and return to them after doing the rest. You have five minutes." He waved his wand and parchments appeared on their desks.

Still groaning, most of the class started at once.

After ten minutes, he said, "Times up," and waved his wand. The parchments flew to his desk, some with long ink lines on them as their owners had failed to lift their quills fast enough. "Pull out your copy of _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2_."

"Start reading chapter one. If you don't have your copy with you, share with someone else. No talking."

He spent a few minutes flipping through the tests. He sighed deeply, had it really been that bad? No wonder they fell in battle like wheat before a thresher.

"Times up!" he called. "Who finished the chapter?" Naturally, Hermione raised her hand, as did Harry and Ron. Gilderoy knew the girl had read the entire _book_ , twice, before she even arrived at Hogwarts, and had browbeat the two boys into reading the book as well. But they had lied to her, and had barely read halfway through. But they were still far ahead of most of the class.

"Who finished and understood the first page?" Everyone raised their hands. "Second Page?" Several hands fell. He sighed. "Third page?" Most hands fell. "Anyone besides Miss Granger, Mr. Potter, and Mr. Weasley finish the fourth page?" Nobody raised a hand.

His smile faltered. "Right." He sighed. "Homework! Owl home and have your parents send you your copy of last year's _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1._ Read the complete book before our next class next Wednesday!" The entire class gasped, and then groaned. Hermione looked ecstatic. "There are only a _few_ copies in the Library, so SHARE! It's called TEAMWORK! Get used to it! If you don't, you _will_ fail. And what you learned last year is the basis for everything you learn from this day forward!"

He gave them a moment for that to sink in, and then he smiled brightly.

"Magic is all about intent! If you hold up your wand and say _lumos_ ," he demonstrated, holding up his wand, the tip of his wand barely glowing, "your wand lights up." He pointed at his upheld wand with his other hand. Then he frowned at the barely glowing tip. "Not very bright is it? Well, perhaps if I thought about needing a bright light I might get a better result." He held up his wand and said, loudly and firmly, " _LUMOS_!" A blinding bright light filled the classroom; the students yelped and held their hands in front their faces.

"Perhaps that was a bit too much, eh? _Nox_!" The light disappeared.

"Whether Dark or Light, it is your _intent_ that drives your magic! I could point to any one of you," he pointed at Hermione with his wand, "And say _Avada Kadavra_ ," a pale green light burst from his wand and hit Hermione in the chest. The class screamed in horror. He shielded himself from several spells cast his way — two were from Harry.

Hermione stared at Gilderoy, down at herself, then back at her professor.

"Stand, please, Miss Granger!" he said dodging another set of spells.

Hermione, almost in shock, rose to her feet. The clamour in the classroom slowly died down as they realized Hermione _wasn't_ dead.

Into the silence, Harry/Gilderoy said. "I could cast that spell all day at Miss Granger and she would walk away unharmed. Why? Because _I DO NOT WANT TO HURT HER_!" He would sooner cut his own throat than deliberately harm her. He directed his next comment to her, "Miss Granger, what did that feel like?"

She stared at him for a moment, and then hesitantly said, "It tingled a bit, kind of like pins and needles, you know like when your arm falls asleep because you leaned on it for too long at an awkward angle."

He put his hands on his hips and beamed at the class. " _INTENT_! The most powerful _healing_ spell will _fizzle_ if you don't _want_ it to work! The most _deadly_ Dark spell will _fail_ if you don't _mean_ it!"

"The difference between Light and Dark spells is all about intent, as well." He started pacing, his robes swirling dramatically.

"Dark spells are usually designed to _hurt_ people. They can be used to help people — such as _reducto_ being used in demolition work or _diffindo_ being used in forestry to cut down trees — but their primary purpose is to harm people." He looked out at the students. "You will hear people claim that the Unforgivables were originally designed to help people. The AK, for example, as a painless way to ease a patient in agony from a cureless disease or fatal wound — but if your intent is to _help_ a patient, why does the AK _require_ a Healer to _hate_ the patient? And it takes a great deal of power to execute it, as well.

"Light spells are designed to help people. They can also harm them. Such as _Wingardium Leviosa_ — Harmless, right? What if I use it to lift you a thousand feet in the air, and then drop you? That will kill you as surely as a _reducto_. _Aguamenti_ is harmless, right? If I shove my wand in your mouth and cast it, you'll drown in seconds as your lungs fill with water. You're just as dead as if I hit you with an _Avada Kadavra_."

The students were looking properly horrified.

"I am a great Wizard for the Light, as you can see merely by reading my books. I've travelled the world and seen things you cannot imagine and fought monsters you can't dream of, some human, all to protect the innocent." He stopped pacing and looked at the students. "And yet . . . and yet . . . I know a _hundred or more_ Dark spells."

"Why do I know those spells? Why, so I can recognize them and counter or dodge them, as I need! You can't fight evil Wizards and monsters unless you know their spells, their strengths, and their weaknesses."

"Now — be warned! It is my job to arm you against the foulest creatures known to wizardkind! You may find yourselves facing your worst fears in this room." He swept the room with a glance, meeting everyone's eyes.

"First, everyone stand." He waved his hands up. As soon as they stood, he swept his wand and all the desks slid to the back of the room, along with everyone's books and bags. "And I'll stick them together so they are safe." That was another wave. "Now, form wizard-witch teams. For example, Mr. Potter and Miss Granger." It took a moment for the teams to settle. Ron ended up with Lavender Brown.

"Next, we practice the shield charm, which I used in all my books to great effect. A very versatile spell, that one. You simple rotate your wand like so," he demonstrated, "and say _protego_. Say it with me, pro-TEY-go." They repeated this ten times. "Now practice the wand movement — exaggerate it, like so," and he again demonstrated it. Then he made them repeat it until they all could do it. "Now do the movement really small, like so," and he did, barely moving the tip of his wand. And made them practice it twenty times, while he chanted, "Smaller, smaller!"

"Perfect! Wonderful!" He smiled broadly and struck a pose, hands on hips. "On three, cast! One, two, three!" The results varied from Hermione and Harry's quite solid performance, to almost nothing from Ron except a bit of sparkle. "Again!" Ten times later, he said, "Good, everyone got it?" Most of the class appeared quite happy with their results. Ron scowled at the sparks popping from his wand.

"Next, we go to the _Freeze_ Charm, which I used to quite good effect in _Breaking with a Banshee_ , don't you know." They practiced that spell and wand movement twenty times as well.

"Excellent," he gave them another sample of _Witch Weekly's_ Most-Charming-Smile. "Now, know that no harm can befall you whilst I am here. All I ask is that you remain calm!"

He lifted a cage hidden behind his desk. Lockhart placed a hand on the cover. Neville was cowering in his front row seat.

"I must ask you not to scream," said Lockhart in a low voice, waving one hand theatrically. "It might . . . _provoke_ them," he half whispered, giving them a stern look.

As the whole class held its breath, Lockhart whipped off the cover.

"Yes," he said dramatically. " _Freshly caught Cornish pixies._ " How he managed to say that with a straight face was a mystery — he sounded like a barker at the fish market!

Seamus Finnigan couldn't control himself. He let out a snort of laughter that even Lockhart couldn't pretend was a scream of terror. The Slytherins looked amused.

"Yes?" He smiled at Seamus.

"Well, they're not — they're not very — dangerous, are they?" Seamus choked.

"Don't be so sure!" said Lockhart, waggling a finger at Seamus. "Devilish tricky little blighters they can be!"

The pixies were electric blue and about eight inches high, with pointed faces and voices so shrill it was like listening to a cage full of budgies arguing. The moment the cover came off, they had started jabbering and rocketing around, rattling the bars and making faces at the class.

He resumed his heroic pose. "Now, Witches, you use _protego_ to protect yourself _and_ your partner. Wizards, you use the _Freeze_ Charm to defend yourself _and_ _your_ partner." With that short warning, Lockhart opened the cage.

It was pandemonium. The pixies shot in every direction like rockets. Three bounced off the window, on which he had cast an impervious charm that morning.

"Come on now — round them up, round them up, they're _only_ _pixies_ ," Lockhart shouted, hands on his hips, his grin beaming broadly at the class.

Half the class was trying to shelter under the desks at the back of the class. Neville was swinging from the iron chandelier in the ceiling where the pixies had left him. The pixies were split between harassing the students and attacking their belongings, which were fortunately charmed closed and stuck to the desks.

The other half, though, those girls with slightly faster reactions, had popped up their shields between themselves and the attacking pixies. Two had even remembered to protect their partner. Harry, hiding behind Hermione, was shooting the _Freeze_ Charm with decent accuracy at any pixie that tried to sneak around her shield. Lavender had backed into a corner, which prevented the little monsters from flanking her, but also prevented Ron for casting the _Freeze_ Charm because he was with her, not that he could cast it, anyway. Blaise Zabini had taken cover under a desk in the corner and was sniping at pixies as quickly as possible. Daphne Greengrass and Tracey Davis were shielding each other.

Lockhart stood at the front of the class, laughing. The pixies knew well not to attack _him_ , he had earlier that day put the fear of Harry/Gilderoy into them! Finally, he waved his wand, freezing the remaining pixies. A second wave put the pixies back into their cage, which he re-covered.

Another wave saw Longbottom rescued from the chandelier and the desks moved back to their proper positions.

Still chuckling, and shaking his head, Lockhart said, "Right, then, who can tell me what you did wrong?"

After a moment of silence in which they all just looked at each other, Hermione slowly raised her hand.

"Yes, Miss Granger?"

"We were too slow?"

"And?"

". . . ."

The Wizard turned to the blackboard and a chalk flew up and started writing as he said, "One point to Miss Granger."

"First," he pointed to the line the chalk had just finished, "There was no teamwork!" The witches, except Hermione, ducked their heads down. A few of the wizards joined them.

"Second," he pointed to the next line, " _Almost everyone forgot their spells!_ "

The rest of the class looked shamefaced. "Five points to Mr. Potter and Miss Granger for actually acting as a _team_ and properly working together to defend themselves. Three points each to Miss Brown, Miss Greengrass, Miss Davis, Mr. Quartey, and Mr. Zabini for remembering their spells, even if they _were_ late.

"And these were _pixies_! Pixies that you lot _laughed_ at and called _harmless_! And they _completely routed you all_! What will you do if you meet an Acromantula? Or even a Kurupira? I tell you now; hiding under desks will _not_ save you from a werewolf, banshee, hag, vampire, or troll. Not even hiding in a toilet stall or under a sink will help, _will it_ Miss Granger?" Hermione blushed a bright red and Harry looked outraged. Several students gave a surprised look at the Witch, wondering what the story was behind his remark.

"I don't expect you to go toe-to-toe against Dark Wizards with decades of experience, but I do expect you to be able to properly defend yourself, and your family, _while you escape_!" He glared fiercely at the class. "Only a _fool_ fights a Wizard with decades of experience. Only a fool fights head-on against a Witch with more power than himself." He paused, now looking tired. "And I have been the _fool_ too many times, and if not for an _unreasonable_ amount of luck I would not be here today. And I have lost more friends than I care to count because I was a _fool_." He glared at them. "That's why I am here, to teach you not to be _foolish_!"

The class was staring at him wide-eyed.

"The next two classes, maybe more, will be remedial classes covering last year. You should already _know_ this material backwards and forwards. I expect you _all_ to master _all_ of last year's material in two weeks. Remember your homework! And TEAMWORK! Class dismissed.

"Mr. Potter, a word before you leave."

Harry slowly picked up his bag and stuffed his books back in it. Hermione and Ron were hanging back at the door as the rest of the chastised class left the room.

Lockhart sat in his chair and watched Harry reluctantly approach. "And the word, Mr. Potter, is _detention_!" the Professor said cheerily.

Harry's eyes shot wide open and his mouth dropped. Both Ron and Hermione looked surprised, as well. Gilderoy knew they were thinking that Harry was being given a new detention and that Harry was about to protest.

Ignoring the students' reactions, Lockhart cheerfully continued, "Your seven detentions from yesterday will be with me, starting tonight at seven."

Harry's mouth clicked closed.

Gilderoy beamed happily at his pranking Harry. Harry would figure it out later. Maybe.

"Dismissed."

"Yes, sir," the boy said, turned smartly, and stiffly stalked out the door.

Lockhart waved his hand and the door closed.

It wasn't going to be easy, but he intended to have the entire Second Year class working on Third Year material by June. And similar plans for the other years. The seventh years were in for a big surprise as he planned to run them through all six previous years before Christmas. When they hit their NEWTS, they _would_ be prepared. He had already chosen four Sixth Years to act as teacher' aides on the written homework for the Third through Fifth years. He planned to approach the Weasley twins about doing the same for the First and Second Years.

He _was not_ going to watch poorly trained students die fighting Death Eaters.


	2. Chapter 2 Detention and More

**2\. Detention and More**

Lockart smiled to himself as the proximity alert on his door sounded a soft chime. Someone was approaching with the intent to enter. He waited patiently for the knock, saying, "Door-knocker, say, 'Professor Lockhart will be with you in a moment.'" He studied the mirror on the inside of his door, reflecting what the Door-knocker's eyes saw.

He couldn't help but laugh at the despondent expression on Harry Potter's face. It had been absolutely _ace_ taking the micky out of the boy prior to his Herbology class. As a prank, it certainly approached the top of the chart.

He thought Harry was going to bust a seam when he had said, _Gave you a taste for publicity, didn't I?_ And the way Harry's eyes had bugged out when he said, _I mean, a few people have heard of you, haven't they?_

And then . . . and then . . . Colin Creevey's set up! Another fantastic line: _There may well come a time when, like me, you'll need to keep a stack handy wherever you go, but I don't think you're quite there yet._ He thought poor Harry was about to have a coronary! And his face had been as red as Ron's hair. Harry/Gilderoy had laughed himself silly once he arrived back in his office. Good grief, it was like shooting fish in a barrel.

And then in the actual classroom, via the listening charm he had placed on the The-Boy-Who-Lived's robes, he had heard Ron say, _You'd better hope Creevey doesn't meet Ginny, or they'll be starting a Harry Potter fan club_. Ha! He had forgotten about that. Now, _there_ was an opportunity! A few words to a couple of the more impressionable Firsties, and viola! He could even volunteer to be the staff advisor for their little club. The pranking potential was _astronomical_!

He added a few notes to his list and then put the scroll in his desk drawer. He walked over and opened to the door, smiling broadly. "Ah, here's the scalawag!" he said. "Come in, Harry, come in —"

"You can address the envelopes!" Lockhart told Harry, as though this was a huge treat, pointing at the box of envelopes on his desk, beside the huge stack of photographs. "This first one is to Gladys Gudgeon, bless her — huge fan of mine —"

The time flew by for Lockhart. He made sure to talk softly, as if he were offering real advice to the boy, saying things that sounded ridiculous and that only amateurs might pay attention to, like, "Fame's a fickle friend, Harry," "Celebrity is as celebrity does, remember that," "It's not what you know but who," and "Always make a proper entrance."

But for the _professional_ , who knew he was _always_ on stage, these were actually vitally important. Harry would gradually realize that the _advice_ he snorted at today was actually quite essential for the successful politician, businessman, or sports hero. If you acted with confidence people assumed you knew what you were doing and trusted you, even if you were completely lost as to what was _really_ happening! And people were _always_ watching you when you were an important or popular figure.

After a couple of hours, he pushed the stack of finished mail into a box, and moved the photographs and unused envelopes to another. "There now," he said.

Harry looked at him blearily.

"Now that the 'fun' stuff is over, we have some _real_ business to discuss." Sadly, Harry had learned that Lockhart really did enjoy autographing his books and photographs. It was soothing and relaxing to the man. Harry used the opportunity to think about other things while letting his Gilderoy side run on autopilot.

Harry Lockhart leaned back in his chair and studied the tired student lightly shaking his weary fingers.

"In all seriousness, Harry, you cannot let your fame drag you along in its wake, like a helpless leaf caught in the wind. I realized when I was a student here at Hogwarts that you have to seize control of your fate, or it _will_ make your life miserable. And I am more than happy to help you navigate those treacherous waters, for it is all too easy for fame to slip from your grasp and leave you as a has-been, a nobody. You have to _work_ at being famous."

The black-haired boy frowned at him. The professor could just about read his mind. ' _Now what is the twit going on about?'_

He leaned over, picked up, and placed a pile of thin books on the desk. "Do you know what these are, Harry?" he asked softly.

The boy looked at them briefly, and then made a disgusted face. "Those . . . fakes."

"Precisely, my boy, precisely," said Gilderoy. "And do you realize that the publishers and authors of those tomes are getting _rich_ off of _you_?" The boy looked up at him, astonished. "That's right, they have _stolen_ your name, your face, your fame, and are making money hand over fist." The boy frowned at him. "And all the while telling _lies_ about you to the gullible public.

"Now it's okay to exaggerate your deeds on occasion, everyone expects that. But to portray pure fantasy as the truth? Well, that will only backfire on you in the worst _possible_ way.

"How many times have you run into someone who said, 'Oh, I've read all the Harry Potter adventure books, it must be wonderful to live in castle. Do you really have a dragon for a pet?'

"Or, worse, to let stand as fact things you know are lies, such as what happened on October 31st, 1981."

The Wizard watched Harry stiffen. "There are _history_ books — _Modern Magical History,_ _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts,_ and _Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century_ , to name just three — that purport to tell what happened that fateful night. You and I know they are _all_ lies. No one _alive_ knows what exactly happened that night.

"From the evidence and spell residue we can make conjectures as to the sequence of events, but what was actually said and what really happened? No one knows. Nor does anyone know what your life was like _after_ that incident. Yet these books . . ." He waved his hand at the stack on the table, ". . . all claim to tell the unvarnished truth. According to these . . . frauds, you grew up with a loving foster family, with older foster brothers and younger foster sisters who all adore you, in a castle hidden somewhere safe where you have many adventures because you're just that sort of kid who can't help falling into thrilling escapades. And they are all lies, aren't they?"

The man shook his head sadly, "But the little Wizards and Witches, the children, they really _do_ believe them. They think you _are_ rich. They think you _are_ spoiled. They think you have a _loving_ foster family who dotes on your _every_ wish, spoiling you shamelessly. And when you don't live up to those expectations, they _hate_ _you_ for ruining those expectations. Everything you say or do that reveals you know nothing about Wizardkind, Wizard traditions, and Wizard lore, they take as an indication that you really do know those things but are too _arrogant_ to pay attention to them! You really don't know those things, but it is easier for them to believe you do but don't care. Otherwise they would have to admit that the books were lies — and nobody likes to admit they fell for a lie because it makes them look foolish."

The boy was looking more and more astonished with every sentence.

"And the publishers are continuing to feed that image that you don't care by putting out new books every year telling them how their hero, The-Boy-Who-Lived, is still being a hero when in truth you are just a student trying to make the best of a bad situation."

Harry leaned back, blinking.

"And the reason they are doing that is that _you_ have let them _steal_ your name and likeness, and make up these fantastical stories. You have done _nothing_ to say, 'But those books are all lies.'"

The boy's eyebrows shot up.

But before he could say a word, the professor continued. "I know, I know what you're going to say, but here's the deal. By _not_ saying anything to them, by _not_ complaining about what they've done, you have tacitly given them permission to continue in what they are doing. By _not_ talking to them, you have _given_ them permission to _continue_ making up lies about you, to _continue_ selling dolls with your face, to _continue_ stealing money from you. And while you might not think the money is important, given your family's great wealth, by doing nothing you give the impression that it is perfectly fine for them _to continue to lie about and steal from you_!

"Now, I know your guardians have been somewhat lax in that regard, that your family lawyers have ignored the problem, but that doesn't excuse last year. Last year you had ample time to tell everyone the books are lies and start correcting the record. You had ample time to contact the publishers and tell them to stop. _And you didn't_. That you didn't know you should is not an excuse they are willing to accept.

"By the way, did you know they released three, _three_ books about your first year in Hogwarts? And not one of them even comes close to matching what really happened, except that you are the youngest Seeker in a hundred years. And they have you single-handedly winning every game with your teammates cheering you on from their brooms.

"And by _not_ saying anything you let people think you are an arrogant braggart with delusions of perfection and grandeur."

He paused and let Harry think about that. Lockhart could see the boy getting angrier and angrier. And the angrier the boy became, the easier it became for Gilderoy to do what needed doing. And he had somehow missed Gilderoy's references to his family's wealth. The professor decided to let that lie for the moment.

"And I bet you're thinking, 'but what can _I_ do about any of that? I'm just a _kid_!'"

"Well, Harry, what I propose to you is to let _my_ legal firm — Fleecem, Cheatem, and Beatem — take care of this for you."

Naturally, on hearing the firm's name, Harry's eyebrows repeated their climb to his hairline. Lockhart had to suppress a smile and pretend not to notice Harry's incredulous reaction. Wizards really were oblivious, not to mention naïve, in many areas. Most wouldn't even blink on hearing that name.

He wasn't going to mention that he actually owned that firm. He had set it up last month and staffed it with hand-picked sharks.

"What they will do, _at no charge to you_ , is go after these scoundrels and make them pay the royalties they should have been paying you all along. I realize you don't care about the money — if you cared about money you wouldn't wear those atrocious muggle clothes and you'd dress like a proper gentlewizard. Or at least dress in a manner that didn't suggest you were a homeless gypsy who accidentally wandered into the castle by mistake."

He pretended not to notice the blush that lit up boy's face.

"That's one of the reasons people don't take you seriously, and why the Slytherins make fun of you. If you don't take _yourself_ seriously, why should _they_? They think you are insulting them by ignoring proper dress traditions, so they get mad at you for dressing like a homeless person."

Harry looked startled at that. And well he should. By the time future Harry had learned that lesson it was far too late to be useful, he was too busy dodging Snatcher squads and muggle strafing and bombing runs.

"Now, then, knowing you are rich, a lot of people will be outraged that you would _dare_ to attack the books that every, and I do mean _every_ , Wizarding child owns. To combat this, to control the narrative, that is, I suggest you set up a foundation that will use the funds those scoundrels give you to provide Muggle-borns, and _underprivileged_ Half-bloods and Pure-bloods with adequate schooling materials.

"You know," he said in a coaxing manner, "so that they don't have to use hand-me-down or broken and defective wands, so they can get books that _aren't_ falling apart with age." He stopped, covered his mouth, and said "cough * cough * Ron and Ginny Weasley * cough * cough." He dropped his hand and cleared his throat, "Sorry about that, had a frog in my throat."

Harry was staring at him in shock.

"If it's a grant from a foundation, it's not charity, now is it? Especially if it goes to a large group of people, right?

"Anyway, you announce this right off and it immediately puts those scoundrels off their game"

Harry was blinking rapidly, Gilderoy could almost see the gears turning in his mind.

"Of course, there _will_ be a means test in the process. We don't want rich snobs like Mr. Malfoy, who can easily afford a wand, expecting to get a free one.

"And, if there are sufficient funds — using only the interest, not the principle, of course — the Foundation will replace those aging and decrepit brooms Hogwarts uses to teach Firsties about broom-flying. That way future students can avoid accidents such as befell poor Mr. Longbottom last year.

"So, you would be doing a tremendous _service_ to the Wizarding community, _your friends_ , by doing this. And it would show that you are not someone they can take lightly. If they cross you, there _will be_ _consequences_.

"And just to alleviate any concerns you might have on the matter, I, myself, will be on the Board of Directors of The Lily Potter Foundation to make sure the funds are used for the stated purposes and _not_ used to line some rich Pure-blood's pockets.

Harry jerked his head up on hearing the name of the Foundation.

The smarmy professor smiled knowingly. "Yes, this would be an excellent way to _honour_ your mother and keep her name alive in the Wizarding World. And with only a minimal amount of effort on your part. Plus, as I said, it shan't cost you a single knut. The legal firm will take their fee from the monies collected. Normally those legal fees can range anywhere from thirty-to-fifty percent, but for The Lily Potter Foundation I've talked the solicitors down to a mere twenty percent."

He pulled a parchment out of his pocket. "If you would just sign right here," he pointed to the bottom of the parchment, "They can get started on this _immediately_."

Harry looked at the proffered quill and looked back up at Lockhart, frowning heavily.

The Professor leaned forward and said, quietly and sincerely, "Harry, I _swear_ to you on my magic that what the Foundation does will make you _proud_." He stared into the boy's eyes, projecting his sincerity.

"I, Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defence League, five-time winner of _Witch Weekly's_ Most-Charming-Smile Award, and your beloved Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor promise you that this is not a trick and not a scam, that The Lily Potter Foundation will do exactly as I promise. It _will_ provide needy students with the tools they require to _succeed_ at Hogwarts.

"The contract here even specifies that _my_ compensation as a member of the Board of Directors will never exceed _one_ galleon a year, and that _none_ of the other Directors will earn more than 100 galleons." He didn't need any money, the kudos and access to other rich movers would more than pay him for his time on the board. Not to mention the fact that he was earning a finder's fee of one-percent on every galleon earned from the miscreant firms and any _new_ licensing arrangements.

Harry hesitantly took the quill and scrawled his signature on the bottom of the parchment.

The professor took the quill and signed just below Harry's name.

"Excellent, Harry," Gilderoy practically purred in satisfaction. Next, he offered a small silver knife. "Just use this to prick you thumb and let a few drops of your blood hit your signature."

Moving slowly, watching the professor from the corners of his eyes, Harry did as asked.

The professor waved his wand and the cut on Harry's hand disappeared as if it had never existed. Harry set the knife on the desk.

Lockhart took the knife and pricked his thumb, letting his blood drip.

As the third drop hit the parchment, Gilderoy smiled widely. A copy of the contract had just magically appeared in the legal firm's office; they would begin first thing in the morning.

Lockhart sighed contentedly, beaming happily, as he rolled up the parchment. "I _promise_ you, Harry, you will be astonished at the good will this will generate in the long term. People will be talking about The Lily Potter Foundation and what it does for _generations_ after you and I are long gone." He tapped the scroll with his wand and handed the new duplicate to the boy. "Let your friend, Miss Granger, have a look at that contract," he said as he dropped his copy into a small Gringotts' Owling tube and sealed both ends. He tossed it into the box with the rest of the outgoing Owl mail. "I'm sure she will find it fascinating. And she will agree that I am treating you fairly. As if _I_ ," he declared dramatically, " _I_ , would stoop so low as to attempt to stymie the promising career you have ahead of you. Why would I do that," he asked rhetorically, "when by helping you I can demonstrate to everyone what a wonderful mentor I am?" He struck a heroic pose, with one arm on his hip holding back his dress-cape and holding the index finger of the other hand up at eye level for several moments. Then he relaxed.

"By the way, just in case you change your mind, there is a ten-day cancelation clause before the contract becomes permanent. If you have _any_ questions, feel free to come to me at any time. I will _always_ be willing to help you achieve your life's goals." Gilderoy beamed proudly at the boy and looking forward to showing Harry how to manage his fame.

Harry watched and listened carefully, clearly thinking about what had just happened. They sat in silence for a minute, both contemplating the future, but for very different reasons, with just as different goals. Lockhart knew the contract wasn't worth the parchment it occupied, but it did provide a framework for them. Plus, he knew that the only person to object to the contract wouldn't as it would out him as the boy's illegal guardian. And in the absence of challenges, the contract would stand.

"There _is_ one more thing, Harry."

The black-haired boy looked up curiously.

"Photographs and autographs," the Wizard said.

Harry groaned.

"Hear me out, Harry. This could make it much easier for you here in Hogwarts for the long term."

The boy sighed dramatically and crossed his arms as he sat back in his chair.

"Colin Creepy . . . ."

Harry's eyebrows went up again.

". . . is going to be stalking you. I know the type, I really do. He's going to be taking pictures of you all the time. Whether you want him to or not. He is your very own, personal paparazzi." He paused a moment, reminiscing, "This takes me back to the beginning of my career when I realized I had my first, real fan." He sighed theatrically.

Harry rolled his eyes.

"Mr. Creepy's a nice kid, he really is, but he's like a bull terrier. Once he gets after you, he never stops. All you can do is set some boundaries. Took me a few years to figure out that little tidbit, I tell you now!" He grinned conspiratorially at Harry.

Harry sighed again.

It was funny how Harry never asked just _how_ Gilderoy knew this about a student he had only met that day.

"You can either threaten him or you can work with him. The first will make everyone hate you for being mean to a Firstie. The second can make a _huge_ difference in making you look like a good guy.

"Here's how it works. Tell him to meet you after dinner Saturday next, tell him to bring plenty of film. He'll be _giddy_ with excitement, but make him promise not to tell anyone, _at all_ , or _everyone_ will show up and interfere with what the two of you will be doing.

"When you get together, make a deal with him. You will make him your _official_ photographer. Once a month, the two of you will get together and he will take pictures of you around the castle. Once a month, the two of you will get together and review those pictures. He _has_ to give you a copy of _every_ picture he takes, and you _together_ will select _which_ pictures he can sell.

Harry sat up straight in astonishment, opening his mouth to protest.

"Wait," the professor held up his finger.

Looking mutinous, Harry sank back in his chair.

" _In exchange_ , Mr. Creepy will agree to _not_ take pictures of you anywhere else, and to _not_ bother you _at all_!"

Harry was doing a fair imitation of a goldfish — bulging eyes and gaping mouth.

"And this way _you_ control what people see! I guarantee you that he _already_ has people asking him for pictures of you. And you really don't want _every_ picture he takes available to _everyone_ in the Castle. I'm sure the Slytherins would queue up by the dozens to buy pictures of you picking your nose, scratching your arse, or falling on your face after someone trips you."

Harry was looking alarmed.

"So, you set a price of a six knuts for each photograph, and he has to split it with you fifty-fifty. And if anyone brings you a picture and wants your autograph, you charge them two sickles."

"Two sickles!"

The boy was going to get emotional whiplash if he wasn't careful.

"Yes, two sickles. This does several things. First, it keeps hundreds of students from swamping you, every day, wanting you to sign the picture they just bought.

"When your _friends_ ask why you're _charging_ for the autographs you say it is to keep the arseholes away, as only someone serious will be willing to pay two sickles for your autograph. _Plus_ , you can use the autographed pictures as a reward to select people. Knowing that you are giving them something free that normally people have to buy will raise its value in their eyes.

"But to everyone else you say, 'Because it's going to buy the Houses new Quidditch Brooms.'"

Harry stared at him, astonished.

"That's right, you're going to use that photograph and autograph income to make sure all the teams, _not just the Slytherins_ , have modern brooms. No longer will it matter if one team has better brooms than the other because they'll all have the _same_ brooms!"

Harry sat back thinking.

"You see how this works, don't you? You control what pictures people see. Nothing embarrassing, nothing that might be scandalous. You don't have to worry about picture hungry fans following you — they all go bother Mr. Creepy if they want a proper picture. If someone _does_ want your autograph, then they have to buy Mr. Creevey's authorized pictures because you will _only_ autograph pictures taken by Mr. Creevey. That will cut down dramatically on the number of people surreptitiously taking pictures of you.

"And when someone grumbles about having to pay money for an autograph, remind them that _you_ aren't making any money, _all_ the money coming in to _you_ is going to a good cause — new Quidditch brooms. And how can anyone hate you for doing that? And that makes you a good guy!"

Lockhart sat back. "Anyway, you think about that. If you're smart, you'll do it. Otherwise you might find someone selling pictures of you taking a shower in the bathroom." Which had happened to Harry in the other timeline. He had been most embarrassed to discover the poster-sized image. He had found it near the end of the war in the ruined remains of some unknown Witch's demolished house, on a bedroom wall. It was quite scandalous, even by Muggle standards, truthfully, and taken in the Quidditch locker-room sometime in his Sixth Year when he was Captain of the team.

Harry stared at him in horror. Lockhart raised his eyebrows and nodded.

"So, you think about that.

"If you want to go ahead with that plan," Gilderoy opened a drawer in his desk and took out a scroll, "here's the contract I suggest you use." He handed it to Harry.

"And it's nearly curfew, so out of here you scamp!" Lockhart made shooing motions with his hands. Harry stood and stumbled to the door, holding the contracts and frowning.

After the door closed, Lockhart sighed deeply. This was harder than he had expected. But it was all vital in keeping the boy's feet on the ground and surviving the turmoil that the professor knew was coming. The next few nights he would lecture the boy, while they addressed letters and signed autographs, on the various social necessities the Wizarding World expected from the Heads of Houses. He would teach the boy how to navigate the shark-infested waters that were the so-called Pure-blood Houses — Gilderoy may have been an opportunistic twit, but he _did_ know the rules of Wizarding High Society.

Physical fighting, Harry had learned, was only a _small_ part of the war. With the right nudges and diplomacy, a skilled tactician could prevent some battles entirely, and save countless lives in doing so.

He pulled out his to-do list from the drawer, and perused it once more, moving the two completed tasks to his "Done" parchment.

.

 **Tasks to Complete as a Hogwarts' Professor**

 _First, Improve the students' current rating in D.A.D.A. from pathetic to a minimum of adequate. And achieve fame as the best D.A.D.A. teacher ever!_

.

Gilderoy kept trying to reverse the order of those two. He didn't seem to get that the fame would naturally follow the other without any additional effort.

.

 _Second, Part A, destroy the friendship between Ron and Harry as subtly as possible._

.

With the exception of last year, Ron had turned on him every year they had attended Hogwarts. His jealousy and temper had ultimately destroyed the Wizarding world. Not to mention the hell he put Hermione through every year, starting with their first year with his constant put-downs, and degrading comments, and continuing until he deserted them.

.

 _Second, Part D, Fan Club for Harry Potter – Ginny, Luna? – Colin to start._

.

A fan club for Harry would drive Ron to distraction.

.

 _Third, catch the rat and bring justice to his Godfather. Use his position in the public eye to make sure the Ministry doesn't bury the story. Maybe he should write a book with the rat as the centrepiece._

.

'And, not incidentally, garner himself some wonderful headlines and even more fame,' the Gilderoy-side whispered.

.

 _Fourth, help Neville gain confidence to become the great Wizard he is capable of being._

.

"And ensure at least one steadfast Pure-blood supporter should he ever need the help of a distinguished Ancient and Noble family," added Gilderoy.

.

 _Fifth, Luna Lovegood. Make sure the bullies never have a chance._

.

Her quirky outlook had saved his life more than once while they were on the run. He owed her that.

.

 _Sixth, retrieve Ravenclaw's Diadem from the Come-and-Go Room, and destroy the soul piece in it. (Fiendfyre?)_

 _Seventh, retrieve the Slytherin Locket from Grimmauld Place (dependent on when Sirius is released). (Fiendfyre?)_

 _Eighth, destroy the diary and the Basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets, and save Ginny Weasley. THAT is definitely a book he will publish. Acquire Phoenix Tears just in case! Keep a sharp eye on Ginny. Maybe get the Map from the twins?_

.

"And cash in on the salvage of the Basilisk, the venom alone is worth tens of thousands of galleons," put in Gilderoy.

He would have to wait on that and let the year play out the way it had previously. After all, while he did know where and what the monster was, speaking Parseltongue was a secret he wanted to keep as long as possible. Publically, he was dependent on Harry for that.

The money from the Basilisk would easily pay for sending Ginny to a Mind Healer afterwards, and prevent the after-the-fact suffering she had endured in the previous timeline, which the Muggles called Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. In the meantime, his hands were tied.

.

 _Ninth, retrieve the Gaunt Ring and destroy it. (Definitely use Basilisk venom for this)_

 _Tenth, retrieve the Hufflepuff Cup and destroy it, or get the Goblins to do it for me._

 _Eleventh, Remove ALL the bones from the Riddle Graveyard and replace them with something else — perhaps roadkill squirrels or Acromantula chiton? Let's see him try to rally the Pure-bloods looking like a spider!_

 _Twelfth, find and kill Nagini? Is she even a Horcrux yet?_

 _Thirteenth, what to do about Harry's portion of Riddle?_

 _Fourteenth, remove, with extreme prejudice, Malfoy and all the other Death Eaters, in and out of Azkaban. Deprive them of their power and wealth which played a large role in controlling ministry and ruining people's lives. Not to mention crippling Voldewhore's financial base_.

.

"No, loot their wealth, and buy a beach house on his own island," added Gilderoy. "And find a lot of ladies to shag. Sinistra looks like a good one to start with." No, wait, that last was solely Lockhart's list!

The list review stopped abruptly due to some serious inner turmoil. Harry was still not used to interacting with adult women in the manner Gilderoy wanted.


	3. Chapter 3 SNAFU

_(6/24 - minor editing changes)_

 **Chapter 3. SNAFU**

It was on October 31st, 2004, that Harry finally succeeded. He had won the Final War. The mighty task of killing the monstrosity known as Lord Voldemort, oops, make that Voldewhore, was complete. In the final battle at what was left of the Ministry for Magic, he had taken Riddle head-on. He had done that many times before, but this time he out-right won — he had killed Riddle with the Sword of Gryffindor. He had _finally_ eliminated that abomination from the face of Earth.

It was a cadmean victory though.

Tom's insanity had dragged the Muggles into the Wizarding U.K.'s Pure-blood Civil War. Tom simply _did not_ understand the power the Muggles had. His last _real_ interaction with the Muggles had been the year before World War II ended, 1944. He had missed entirely the United States dropping the Atom Bombs on Japan in August 1945. If he had realized the damage just _one_ of those could do, he _never_ would have bothered the Muggles.

His failed Death Eater attack on the Prime Minister and Her Majesty the Queen at Buckingham Palace in 2000 had been an unmitigated disaster for the Wizards. Yes, one Wizard can kill dozens, or even hundreds, of Muggles, but even bees can swarm and kill a man. And the ratio of Muggles to Wizards in England was 600-to-one in 2000. Most Muggle-born could do the math, Tom Riddle, A.K.A. Lord Voldewhore, certainly hadn't bothered to do so.

The turning point was when the Muggle death toll from attacks reached 15,000 in one year. The Obliviators simply _couldn't_ keep up, and that Voldewhore and the Death Eater's were in charge of the Ministry and the D.M.L.E.'s didn't help either. The Muggle military, with the help of a few Muggle-borns who had turned to the Muggle government after seeing their families killed at the instigation of the Ministry, started with ordinary tactics. However, the shields and protective enchantments the Wizards used demonstrated the impracticality of that approach in the first month. And few, read none, non-Muggle-born Wizards came to help the Muggles, so the Muggles quickly adopted a policy of annihilation instead of confrontation for all non-Muggle-born.

They started using cannon-fired tactical nukes on Wizard enclaves. No wizarding shield can stand up to the 10-million degree heat of a nuke. And while electronics fail in a magic field, few magic fields extend to the height necessary to affect an exploding nuclear bomb. A bomb capable of creating a crater a 500 yards in diameter when it explodes 300 yards in the air above a target creates a blast wave that goes through protective enchantments like a blow torch through a marshmallow. And unplottable only works if you _haven't_ plotted everywhere else! Their orbital satellites certainly helped the Muggles in that regard. They didn't know what was in the blank spot on their charts that the computers said was there but they couldn't see, but the Queen's Government certainly didn't approve it. That made it fair game.

In a matter of a month, the U.K. Wizarding population plummeted fifty percent.

In desperation, the Wizards turned to the _imperius_ , but the Muggle military was long used to enemy infiltration and quickly adopted measures to mitigate the attacks. And when you have isolated teams that only work via radio, and require _two_ confirming sources for their orders, how do you get close enough to the decision maker to use the _imperius_? Especially when you have a clue-less Pure-blood whose understanding of passing as a Muggle was zero. A few times they did succeed, though, changing instructions or coordinates, and sent the nukes towards Muggle London or another large city. By the end of a year, the U.K. Wizarding population numbered less than ten thousand, and six million Muggles had perished. Which only hardened the Muggle's resolve to eradicate the Wizards.

By the second year, less than two thousand Wizards remained alive, while the Muggles had suffered another three million deaths.

And the blatant violations of the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy brought the world's attention to the magical world. With the typical Wizard response being one of _obliviation_ for the Muggles, the war spread rapidly. _Obliviating_ a local Muggle witness doesn't help when someone kilometres away on the receiving end of a video camera saw what had happened. And that viewer saw the Wizard doing the _obliviating_ as well.

Wizardkind was dead; the survivors just didn't know it. The shopping districts, the business districts, Hogwarts, the Ministry, Wizarding villages, the Quidditch stadiums — all provided gathering areas where Wizards and Witches could congregate and meet potential spouses. Those were now nothing more than smoking ruins.

The Magic gene is a small genetic variation affecting less than _two-tenths of one percent_ of the world's population in the 20th Century. Without the support structure of magical villages, schools, shopping districts and other places Wizards and Witches could congregate, any Wizards or Witches that were born now would be unable to find a spouse to propagate the species. The situation was the same as it had been over a thousand years ago. Wizards and Witches had to wander the world to find others of their kind. Only today's world provided a near infinite number of ways where a Muggle could detect the Wizard or Witch hiding in their midst. And the ratio of Wizards to Muggles now was so much higher. A needle in a haystack was easy by comparison.

The spells to find these new Wizards were lost with the destruction of the governmental buildings and schools. So now there was no way to reach those new Wizards and Witches to tell them about the Magic community and to show them how to use their magic. Any infants born now were sports, one-off flukes whose accidental magic would end up killing them when it finally revealed them to the now-virulently anti-magic Muggle governments. And any who _did_ survive would marry a non-magical spouse and eventually the gene that allowed for magic would disappear from the gene pool.

The magical species — centaurs, giants, trolls, and so forth — had simply been wiped out. They usually inhabited isolated locations with no shielding whatsoever. Tactical nukes finished them off handily. Not even the Goblins and Dwarves could survive a nuke driven deep into their tunnels by a Muggle-born suicide squad intent on revenge against all things magical for destroying their families.

The Muggle world was licking its wounds. The Magic War had done something nothing else had — united the various warring Muggle tribes into a cohesive whole. That cooperation, of course, would soon break apart into disagreeing factions. But the war had shown they _could_ work together against a common enemy, no matter their individual differences. That experience would temper future disagreements, and help keep them focused on finding and eliminating any new Wizards or Witches. Mitigating the environmental damage of the war, ironically, were the few surviving Muggle-born Wizards and Witches who were using their magic to clean up the radioactive bombing sites and restoring them to usefulness.

And to think, it _all_ began to unravel because of one selfish "pig-stupid" Weasley: Ronald the Jealous Git.

His brother, Bill, had taken him in after he had left Harry and Hermione in the Forest of Dean during what should have been their seventh year at Hogwarts. He had watched the boy mope around his apartment for weeks. Misunderstanding the boy's inherent laziness as guilt, Bill had taken him to dinner at the Leaky Cauldron. He had planned to console Ron with his favourite activity — eating. When Bill tried to persuade him to "let out his guilt," Ron had angrily shouted the details of their secret horcrux-hunting mission in the crowded pub.

Harry blamed Dumbledore for that situation. If the man hadn't been so close-mouthed about his secrets, if he had spoken plainly to Harry instead of in riddles and questions, if he hadn't wasted months and years doing nothing, the original search wouldn't have taken so long. And Ron wouldn't have been able to betray them. Instead, after the bumbling Wizard's death, they had wasted valuable time wandering in the wilderness looking for things he should have been searching for and destroying before Harry had ever _heard_ of Hogwarts!

And just what _had_ the Headmaster been planning? Either he was senile, incompetent, or a sociopathic master manipulator who enjoyed playing with other's lives, never really understanding or caring about the pain and heartache he created. Or how much he risked in not sharing what he knew. And why hadn't he taught Harry any valuable fighting skills? That lapse _alone_ had added years to his fighting with Voldewhore.

Naturally, a Death Eater, or a sympathizer, had overheard Ron's wobbler at the Leaky Cauldron.

Lord Voldewhore immediately retrieved and re-hid his remaining horcruxes – Hufflepuff's Cup and Ravenclaw's Diadem – behind _fidelius_ charms. In typical Voldewhore fashion, he left taunting messages and traps in place of the former horcruxes. It had been spirit-crushing to break into the Lestrange Vault and discover that it was all for nothing. Going after the Diadem at Hogwarts was where Hermione had been cursed. The Withering Curse was unstoppable, just as it had been when it killed the Headmaster. Harry's quick reaction in cutting off her arm an instant later had saved her life, but only temporarily. It took her five long pain-filled years to die.

Riddle moving those last two Horcruxes cast the Wizarding World into the abyss with Magical and Muggle world suffering alike. It had taken Harry seven more years to destroy the horcruxes, with friends and allies dying at his side, while he killed Voldewhores's followers whenever and wherever he found them.

Voldewhore didn't care whom else died — _he_ was immortal! But with tremendous determination and tenacity, Harry had fought on, watching his friends and allies die one-by-one. He reluctantly became the Master of Death and used Death's help to locate and destroy the final horcrux — himself. And then killed Tom with Gryffindor's Sword while the git was celebrating his "victory" over Harry.

Death had enjoyed the feast provided by the war. Not even Joseph Stalin's and Mao Zedong's Communist purges had yielded such a bonus of Wizardly deaths. It gladly helped Harry Potter to his victory, and gained the long-awaited soul of Tom Marvolo Riddle. Why would it _not_ enjoy this? Both the boy and his nemesis had provided it with a plethora of souls and activity. But it had _lost_ its _freedom_ to Harry Potter. And was looking at being terminally bored for thousands of millennia to come. The second was annoying, but the first was intolerable. _**No one**_ was allowed to escape DEATH!

Now all Death had to do was trick Harry into giving up his Mastery. Harry Potter _was_ a master of many arts, but no one is more cunning than Death.

One day, Death presented itself to its Master. Harry was sitting on a park bench in a bomb-blasted radiation-ruined town destroyed by an errant nuclear shelling, lost in his thoughts of self-loathing at losing _everyone_ and _everything_ he held dear. He berated himself for not doing more sooner, for not preventing the disaster that destroyed Wizardkind. Living held no appeal, and being the Master of Death meant he couldn't die. He couldn't even get rid of the items by throwing them through the Veil of Death in the Ministry — Voldewhore had destroyed it fearing Harry might use it to kill him. And the damn things could withstand a nuclear blast!

Glancing around at the destruction, Death commiserated with him, "It is sad, is it not? You could have avoided all this ruin if only you had known how it was going to be and had the knowledge and power you have now mastered. All your friends would still be alive. You could have been a Lord among them. You could have been King of the World!" Death proclaimed.

Harry laughed, "If it were possible to go back in time, I would gladly do it even if it saved only one person who had died. I don't _want_ to be Lord over all the people, I just want them living and going on with their lives. And I want my friends back."

"Ah, such nobility, you make me proud, young Master. You may not consider it, but you _are_ my Lord and I dislike my Lord putting himself in a right strop, locking himself in his self-constructed prison of desolation, and driving himself potty," Death said in a mock humility.

Harry chuckled weakly at its antics. "You amuse me, using flamboyant words and slang in the same sentence."

"Forgive me, my Lord, but I change with the times, get more innovative in my ways, and this is one such thing." Death replied. "But, my Lord, I have a proposal for averting this destruction . . . ."

"I am listening," Harry said, one eyebrow raised curiously.

"I can send your soul, together with your core and knowledge but not your body, to a time in the past where you can imprint yourself on a younger version of yourself. That would give your younger version the right amount of knowledge and power. You can achieve your destiny without much effort, and prevent much destruction," Death explained. And never get the Elder Wand nor Resurrection Ring, leaving Death in charge of itself, masterless forever.

Harry leaned back, thinking, considering. That was one way around the time-travel restrictions. He'd never have to worry about meeting himself because he _was_ himself. And Eloise Mintumble's problem of changing the past and dying a horrible death when she returned to the present wouldn't matter, as he would _never_ return. That was the flaw in all the time travel theories; they assumed one would return. Or one had to return. The so-called paradox of eliminating one's father, then being not born, and then being unable to eliminate one's father didn't exist in this case. All he had when he arrived in the past would be a _Seer's_ knowledge of a _possible_ and avoidable future.

"What's in it for you?" Harry asked, knowing well that Death doesn't like to make deals.

"My Master, you are very clever for your age, but that can be expected from what you have survived. I am magical. I like to have a regular and timely supply of those magical souls where I can guide them into their next great adventure, but all this destruction has left me nearly jobless. I am no demon, Master. I am just an inevitability, like life itself, the magical embodiment of a course of action that has to take place after a certain amount of time. I enrich the living, prompting them to see how valuable a life they have. I am an entity like all life, but beyond them, for I have a power over them too. One day, I will take them all with me too, but that day is nowhere near," Death said.

"I'll do it." Harry readily replied.

"You have not heard everything, Master. When what you have accepted is done, you will no longer be my Master, but like any other mortal." Death said gravely.

"You don't understand me, do you? I don't _care_ for immortality or riches. I care _only_ for what I can bring back. I am accepting you deal, Death," Harry said quietly.

"Very well, Master." Death silently chuckled. "I will send you back in time, to a time where your _current_ self is most compatible with your _younger_ self. _But be warned_ , my Master, You will imprint upon the _first_ body you meet when you arrive, and the fusion of your current self with the younger self will make a radical change in your personality. You will have to be circumspect in your actions or others around your younger self will notice and wonder why you changed."

"Are you done yet? I am willing to take anything you throw to undo the damage. I have undergone a lot of pain and inner turmoil ever since I was a toddler, and I can surely beat whatever problems this might cause. Even if it _is_ death, I gladly accept because I cannot exist with the guilt of _'if only I had accepted it.' DO IT NOW, DEATH!_ " Harry yelled angrily at his servant.

"As you wish, my Lord." Death smiled at Harry Potter, who grimly smiled back in return. Death began a long and steady incantation that burned the body of his Master, liberating his soul. With a powerful push, Death forced his Master's soul back in the stream of time.

(◎_⊙)

It was a terrible day for Harry Potter. First, he got lost in some side street to Diagon Alley, only for Hagrid to rescue him ignominiously. Now he was being forced to pose for a picture for _The Daily Prophet_ along with this overly smiling smarmy new Defence Against Dark Arts professor, Gilderoy Lockhart. Just being near the Wizard set his teeth on edge — there was something that made him feel unsafe in the Wizard's presence.

It was then that something strange happened, during the camera's brief bright flash. Something powerful seemed to be coming at him. Harry, with a decade of dodging his cousin Dudley's blind-side attacks, lunged to the right. As his future Professor was holding him tightly around the shoulders, this dragged the buffoon into the incoming thing's path.

It happened then, before the camera flash vanished, something hit Gilderoy Lockhart. He swayed a moment in the aftermath, then his eyes rolled up and he slipped to the floor, unconscious, taking poor Harry with him.

There was utter chaos in the crowd when their favourite author and five-time winner of _Witch Weekly_ 's Most-Charming-Smile Award collapsed over the Boy-Who-Lived. Molly Weasley immediately dragged young Harry Potter from beneath the unconscious Gilderoy Lockhart and looked in horror at her favourite author on floor.

The management of _Flourish and Blotts_ immediately responded to the crisis and transferred the stricken Wizard to Saint Mungos. They promised his disappointed fans that there would be another autograph signing at a future date.

It took half an hour to disperse the crowd remaining at _Flourish and Blotts,_ most of them going to Saint Mungos where the expert healers were trying to awaken Lockhart.

During that time, Draco Malfoy announced Harry had caused this by striking the preeminent author with a Dark spell. That developed into a fight between the Weasleys and the Malfoys. It ended when the half-giant Hagrid separated the two adult combatants, but not before Arthur Weasley punched Lucius Malfoy in the nose. No one noticed, in that commotion, the extra book slipped into the cauldron of a young Miss Weasley, the seventh child of the Weasley family and the first witch in seven generations.

Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defence League, five-time winner of _Witch Weekly's_ Most-Charming-Smile Award, and soon to be Hogwarts' most beloved Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor (at least in his own mind) returned to consciousness feeling lightheaded and extremely tired. The Healers informed the gathering crowd eagerly awaiting news regarding their favourite author that it was merely a case of exhaustion and with good nutrition potions, he would be fine soon. What startled everybody was hearing, "WHAT THE BLOODY HELL IS THIS?" from the room housing the self-important popinjay.

For some reason the photograph taken at the bookstore came out blank.

(⊙_◎)

It didn't take long for Harry to realize Death had played a prank on him. But while most people would have been mad, he was grinning happily. Sure, Death may have thought Harry would be humiliated in being bound to the body of a bloody fraud and cheat, but it didn't understand that Harry would not mind being a mistreated house elf or even Fang, Hagrid's giant dog. As long as he could prevent the widespread destruction caused by the war, he was happy. And being Lockhart gave him a front-row seat on the events of Second Year.

Getting out of St. Mungos was a bit trying, as he seemed to be at war with himself. Finally, he just relaxed and let things flow instead of trying to fight. He still remembered how to get to back to Gilderoy's home, thankfully. And he was equally happy that he didn't splinch himself in his current muddled state.

He had a _lot_ of work to do in the short amount of time before school started.

First on his agenda was adjusting to his new body. Fortunately, after years of battle, he knew how to adapt quickly to any new situation and use it to his advantage. He swiftly realized that he was neither Harry Potter nor Gilderoy Lockhart, but a confusing combination of the two. At any given moment, one or the other seemed to be in command. Thus, sometimes he acted just like he remembered Lockhart acting like in Hogwarts — as a smarmy publicity hound braggart, basking in the firm belief that he was adored by everyone and that his every pronouncement was met with acclaim. Other times, he was humble Harry wanting to avoid the crowds, downplaying his achievements, and just craving to pass unnoticed in the background. In other words, one wanted to be a _Star_ , the other wanted to be _Normal_.

Fortunately, melding with the narcissistic Wizard had one tremendous side-effect, his Post-Trauma Stress Disorder was almost gone. The sudden panic attacks were moderated by Gilderoy's sunny confident personality. No more paralyzing bouts of certainty that Voldewhore was stalking him, because Lockhart loved the fans constantly following him. No more flashbacks where he attacked anyone around him thinking they were Death Eaters — one of the reasons he had been hiding alone in the radiation scarred ruins was to protect those around him. Instead, the smarmy buffoon acted as a buffer — he simply couldn't conceive why _anyone_ would want to attack _him._ Gilderoy's wand would still drop into his hand at any startlement, tip glowing with an uncast spell, but he quickly returned it to its holster and no one ever noticed.

As the days passed, however, he began to notice that more and more, the Harry Potter he remembered was becoming Lockhart. And that Lockhart was becoming Harry Potter. The line between the two began to blur and disappear. He had Harry Potter 's courage and moral fibre for wanting to do what was right and Gilderoy Lockhart's cunning and smooth talking confident ways. He still craved the attention and admiration of others, but at the same time demanded that it be for the right reasons. He wanted to dress and look the part of a successful public celebrity, yet at the same time to be nondescript and unnoticeable. He wanted to be the focus of everyone's attention and to hide in the shadows, unnoticed.

His emotions were in a constant turmoil between his two characters. That required a good week or two to settle down. He still vacillated between the two states, but now the ends were not so far apart.

Gradually, the smouldering pain of inner turmoil as the two personalities merged subsided. Harry/Gilderoy Lockhart was a brand new person, with Harry's determination, speed, and empathy, and with Gilderoy presence, quick cunning, and confidence. They still quarreled in his head, but now it was over nuances of their amalgamated personality.

The most surprising discovery was that Harry enjoyed flirting with the Witches just as much as Gilderoy — it was actually fun! And Gilderoy's confident manner easily dragged the hesitant, insecure Harry into conversations loaded with innuendo whenever the Witches were around.

He noticed his power levels increasing too. In a scale of magical power calibration, from what he had seen or experienced, he would give Dumbledore a ten, Voldewhore an eleven, and himself a seven.

Gilderoy may have been a fraud, but he was _very_ _good_ at extraordinarily difficult Memory Charms. Harry gave him a rating of three on the same scale. Of course, he had never had the opportunity to measure any of these on an objective scale, so he could have been wrong in his relative rankings.

Complicating things, though, was that Harry was supposed to have merged with his younger self. Being identical, his older core would simply have replaced his younger one's core. His new core was an adult's core, but if he were careful, he would merely appear very magically advanced for his age. That had been his first thoughts when Death proposed this adventure.

However, now, with Death's prank, that was out the window. Instead of replacing Gilderoy's core, they had merged into one larger core, one with two centres offset from one another. What that meant he hadn't the slightest idea. On the bright side, he was probably on par with Dumbledore in power. Unfortunately, that was still less than what Voldewhore had available when he was reborn. But Voldewhore cheated — his Death Eater mark was also a power leech on his followers, artificially boosting his power to ridiculous levels. That was another reason it had taken Harry so long to flush the shite. Harry had to reduce Tom's marked followers to the point where Harry had a decent chance of beating him — although some might consider it cheating to apparate behind the other Wizard and lope his head off with a sword.

And his changed magical core meant that Gilderoy's wand no longer worked very well for Gilderoy/Harry. The wand chooses the Wizard, and the Wizard he now was wasn't the one that Gilderoy's wand had chosen. He needed a new one, and fast! Harry might be proficient in wandless magic, but as a Hogwarts' Professor, he would need a good working wand to demonstrate the spells. And while it might be fun to teach them all wandless magic, not everyone had a magic core capable of standing the strain of that style magic for extended periods. So, a new wand was in order.

But he couldn't just pop into Ollivander's. As crazy as the old man appeared, he was extremely sharp on wands and would definitely suspect something was wrong. And Harry/Gilderoy most definitely didn't want people getting suspicious of him at this stage of the game.

After the potions were finished from the damned unlively Healers at St. Mungos — the Witches had been remarkably resistant to his natural Wizard charisma, Gilderoy thought — this amalgam of Harry and Gilderoy decided to go fetch a custom-made wand.

But Gilderoy did have a point that there _were_ some very hot mediwitches wandering around in St. Mungos. When Gilderoy began categorizing them according to their hip-to-bust ratio, and how much fun they might be in bed, or against a wall, Harry's response was an uneasy, "stop it," followed by the distraction of planning how to get the various horcruxes.

Flirting was one thing, going farther was an area Harry wasn't sure he wanted to explore just yet. He wanted to get a bit more comfortable with his new body. He might be ready for such blatant activities in, oh, say, thirty years.

(◎_◎)

Though Ollivanders was the _best_ place to get your first wand inexpensively, there were many other wandmakers available in and around Europe serving the needs of the magical population. Gilderoy remembered meeting a Wizard who made very powerful wands to suit the needs of a wizard perfectly. Unfortunately, that Wizard wouldn't do the same for Witches.

When that Wizard first established his shop, his exacting and thorough measurements — that Ollivander would never attempt — chased most young Witches out of his shop in disgust. And then only after their parents had hexed the wandmaker in the most painful ways they could manage. He started refusing them to save himself the pain. Those Wizards, and rare Witches, that did put up with his unusually thorough measurements praised his wands as the best in the world.

Harry apparated to Wandmaker Marcus Flintoff's shop and met an elderly man in his one-hundred-and-eighties. He was thoroughly groped, er, measured, by the old man — Gilderoy/Harry was unsure just how much of the measuring was actually necessary, but he would put up with much worse indignities in his quest to destroy Voldewhore, and had in the future.

"Very unusual," said the old man, staring at Harry. "Your core seems so, for the lack of better word, variable. The power level dips, rises, and pulses at random intervals. Usually, such a person would be sedated to control the pain and in the permanently disabled ward in a Wizarding hospital, but you are standing here!"

He smiled, "But for such an unusual customer, I am a very unusual wandmaker." He held up a finger in pride. " _You_ require a combination wand. I see Cherry and Holly for the wand, wrapped and rolled intricately with each other and held together with Willow tree root fibres. It will be flexible to meet the changes in your core and at the same time, remains tenacious and strong as a carrier of your magic. It will be almost impossible to break. It will be very flexible and you even could bend it into a circle, like a bangle, and wear it on your wrist.

"But the Willow root fibres return it to straight after bending. You see, you get a very elastic wand and that's very unusual."

Harry wanted to face-palm while Lockhart wanted to grin like a goof at the uniqueness of the wand. The result was a calm and observant expression.

"So, the exterior of the wand is fixed, next is a suitable core." He paused and regarded the blond-haired, elegantly and smartly dressed Wizard.

"For such a special person as yourself, is required a combination of cores. I see in your magical core a combination of two very different energies, So you need two different materials. One is bleu flame ambers, marking great power and resilience. The blue flames are the hottest and most potent yet they give off little light, and are difficult to extinguish.

"On the other hand, I see tidal waves of low energy that crave attention. I could use Phoenix feathers to match the flames, but it will not allow another core. Dragon heartstring is potent but is unsuitable for your nature." The old man frowned. "A Fire Salamander's spinal cord is small in size but holds a constant low fire and it is amphibious in nature, so it is well suited to be superimposed on another core. It represents your subtle dangerous nature and desire for attention. Some consider Fire Salamanders to be evil, an unjustified reputation, if I say so myself. A good one I can obtain from an alchemist friend of mine, it will be pricey.

A hint of a smile touched his lips. "To accommodate these two conflicting cores you need a good binding and stabilizing agent."

"To bind these two, we require a powerful object with adhesive and cohesive properties. Amethyst, mixed with gold can be used for this by melting it, laminating it around the cores, and wrapping the wood around at the right time to make an excellent wand."

Harry/Gilderoy listened to the rambling patiently and paid a good amount of galleons with a promise to get _two_ wands in a week — a smart Wizard always carries two wands into battle. The second had a small gold band on the handle to differentiate it.

He also had Marcus make a thirteen-inch long wand, Cherry Wood with a unicorn hair core; an eleven-inch wand, Holly with phoenix feather core; and a ten-and-three-quarters inch wand, vine wood with a dragon heartstring core. The three extra wands were marked with a small gold band on the handle to indicate they didn't have the English Trace on them. And he picked up a score of dragon-hide wand holsters with automatic sizing, comfort, invisibility, and anti-summoning runes. Christmas was coming and it was only smart to buy early.

He did some casual shopping to pass the time while waiting, buying trivial items like a new Nimbus 2001, clothes that were elegant and at the same time inconspicuous, some books on teaching, Muggle exercise equipment, and a particular cabinet from Knockturn Alley. There would be no way into the castle, bypassing the protective enchantments that Harry didn't control! The exercise equipment was because Lockhart's body was not at his full fitness level. Over the years, while on the run, Harry had learned the value of being fit — a healthy mind in a healthy body were requirements. Too often, he had seen a Wizard or Witch fall in a fight, not to superior magic, but to a lack of stamina. With the training Harry intended, he should be at peak performance in a matter of a few months.

Later, with a few other odds and ends purchased, and after a rescheduled autograph session at the bookstore, he was ready for Hogwarts.

Gilderoy/Harry Lockhart knew that Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley, after missing the Hogwarts' Express because of Dobby's interference, would crash-land on the Whopping Willow on the first day of school. Harry Potter from the future wanted to thwart, subtly, Dobby's plans; Gilderoy Lockhart from now wanted maximum publicity and attention out of it. Their compromise should result in a one-hundred point loss to Ronald Weasley, with Ron being held as the ultimate goofball and loser. Harry _should_ come out of it unscathed. And the new D.A.D.A. Professor obtain maximum positive attention at the school — a perfect stage with a captive audience for the next ten months!

And that situation would be the beginning of the wedge Harry/Gilderoy planned to drive between the two boys. Ron would _never_ be close enough to for Harry to consider asking him for his help in a dire situation. And Ron would be too jealous to volunteer.


	4. Chapter 4 Tearing Down, Building Up

_(6/4 - minor editing changes)  
_

 **Chapter 4. Tearing Down, Building Up**

The first weekend at school arrived and Lockhart was tempted to prevent the Slytherins from taking the field from Gryffindor. Then he realized it was a perfect opportunity to deepen the divide between Ron and Harry. So, early Saturday morning he was visiting with Hagrid, nattily dressed and wearing robes of palest mauve, cheerfully explaining how to keep kelpies out of a well, how Hagrid could ask for his advice anytime, and how he had banished a banshee. He wanted to maintain the fiction of Gilderoy being a right prat for a little while.

After hearing Oliver question Colin's presence in the Quidditch stands through his listening charm on Harry, Lockhart hustled right on over, using a Notice-Me-Not charm in case he arrived too soon. His timing was exquisite, he arrived just as Ron started coughing up slugs and missing the insult to Hermione. He allowed his _Notice-Me-Not_ charm slowly to dissipate as he walked up.

"We'd better get him to Hagrid's, it's nearest," said Harry to Hermione, who nodded bravely, and the pair of them pulled Ron up by the arms.

"What's all this then," Lockhart interrupted, beaming his brightest smile at the two teams. "Did I see this idiot actually hex _himself_?" The Slytherins, trying to appear sombre in front of the Professor, dissolved into laughter again. The Gryffindor team, still angry, were nonetheless gritting their teeth to avoid laughing at Ron's predicament — especially his twin brothers.

"We were just going to take Ron to Hagrid's to see if he could help with . . . this," Hermione explained.

"No need for _that_ , no need at _all_! _I,_ the great Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defence League, five-time winner of _Witch Weekly's_ Most-Charming-Smile Award, and Hogwarts' beloved Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor can take care of this without _any_ trouble at all! This is _right_ up my alley!"

As Gilderoy leaned closer and pretended to study the young man, Ron, despite the slugs he was coughing up, got a panicky look in his eyes. Harry looked almost as panicked as Ron did, but Hermione appeared thrilled.

Lockhart looked down at Ron's broken wand, which was still spitting tiny sparks. "Oh, dear," the Professor said. "If that was the wand you used, I think I should take you to Madam Pomfrey. There's no telling what the actual spell was that hit you. Your . . . wand . . . might have malfunctioned and changed the spell substantially. And as any Witch will tell you, a defective wand is a serious issue. You should always keep your wand well-polished and in perfect working order, right ladies?"

The Witches present all blushed as they nodded in agreement. Ron may have blushed as well, but his slugfest had already turned his face red so it was difficult to tell. The Wizards were all laughing, except Harry who looked puzzled.

The Professor straightened. "Naturally, I could fix this myself. But it is Hogwarts' Policy to take a student to the Resident Healer in such a situation. And I wouldn't want to violate policy, now would I?" He glanced at the students waiting for the nods affirming that he shouldn't do that. "What kind of professional would I be if I did that in front of students? Even we Professors must obey the rules, you know." He smiled and raised an eyebrow, as if confiding in friends.

Hermione looked conflicted between following rules, and a Professor's lead, and wanting immediately to help her friend who had tried, and failed, so chivalrously to defend her.

Gilderoy took Ron's arm from Harry, preventing them from leaving before Lockhart was ready.

He looked over at Colin Creevey and smiled, artfully turning Ron so that in any pictures it would appear that he was helping the poor child.

"Now that we have that sorted, why don't you get back to your pickup game?"

"What?" said Oliver. "We had the field booked for practice this morning and now these Slytherins are trying to steal it from us!" The other team members all nodded.

"We have a note from Professor Snape saying _we_ can use the field to train our new Seeker and work with our new brooms!" declared Flint, _his_ team nodding behind _him_. He waved the note.

Lockhart's smile broadened. "Why, I don't see the problem with that in the slightest." Both teams looked at him as if he were barmy.

"I'm sure that both teams," he turned his beaming smile on them as he placed a hand on his hip and struck a pose while maintaining his grip on Ron's arm with the other, "need practice now that summer hols are over. Even the professional teams spend a few weeks just reviewing their old plays, working the kinks out, and getting back into shape before they try anything new at the beginning of their season," he said, again as if confiding a secret.

"In fact," he said cheerily, "I think you should have a practice game. What better way to work off the summer doldrums than a jolly good friendly match!"

He ignored the evil eyes each team gave the other while the captains stared at him, aghast at the thought of cooperating.

"Yes, that's just the ticket!" he said. He waited a moment. "Well, what are you waiting for?" He made shooing motions with his free hand. "Get to it! Gryffindor can take this goal," he pointed to his left. "And Slytherin that one," he pointed to his right. "Go on. I have no doubt you all will have a _fabulous_ time!"

Neither team was happy with the Professor, but both knew better than to object. Less than a minute later, both teams were on their brooms and in the air.

It would have been hilarious to remain and watch as the two teams tried to beat each other half-to-death without a referee to stop them, but he knew that no real harm would come. The Slytherins would need weeks of practice before they completely adapted to their new brooms, throwing off their timing and aim. They would spend more time today avoiding crashing into the stands and each other than trying to hit the other team. And those same handling problems would keep the Slytherins safe from the Gryffindors — they would never be where the Gryffindors expected them to be. Any accidents would be just that. And most likely self-inflicted.

Hermione began to follow them as Harry/Gilderoy started dragging Ron off to see Madam Pomfrey. He planned to use the longest route possible, of course, while also walking as slow as he could manage without it being obvious.

"Ah, Miss Granger!" he said over his shoulder, giving her a brilliant smile showing his perfect teeth. "You can remain here. Your concern for a fellow student does you credit, even if he is unworthy of it. I assure you that Mr. Weasley is in my very capable hands. I will deliver him to Madam Pomfrey safe and sound, I promise.

"If you don't want to watch your boyfriend, Mr. Potter, why don't you visit with Hagrid?" She blushed red again at his insinuation of her relationship with Harry. "I was just at his hut, telling him an exciting story out of my book _Break with a Banshee_ , he was quite interested. He's _such_ a nice fellow and he told me he's _so_ looking forward to seeing you and Mr. Potter this morning." She stopped uncertainly, and he waved her off towards the Quidditch stands. "Mr. Weasley will re-join you in no time at all, I'm sure!" he said as the two headed for the Castle.

As soon as they were inside, he surreptitiously cast a spell that reinforced the slug spell. That made the boy temporarily impervious to low-powered healing spells, making Madam Pomfrey's job much harder. Knowing the woman as well as he did, Gilderoy knew Ron wouldn't get out of the Infirmary until dinner at the earliest. He might not get out until after _supper_ this evening.

Then he conjured a bucket for the boy, "Don't want to upset Mr. Filch, do we?" And while appearing solicitous of the boy's condition, he actually did his best to delay their arrival at the Hospital Wing. The stairs were amusingly cooperative in that respect — they went past the third floor at least four times.

Along the way, he said, "What a _delightful_ couple Mr. Potter and Miss Granger would make, don't you think?" What a great prank, asking questions while the victim couldn't answer. Hermione's dentist parents would be proud of him.

"She's so smart — a perfect match for him, don't you agree? Plus, she's going to be quite pretty in a few years and unlike yourself, Mr. Potter can _easily_ afford to buy her the things she deserves. She's rather a bookworm, I've been told, and he _is_ quite rich." He paused, and then continued as if just struck by the thought, "Why, he can buy her a whole library if she wants and barely dent his fortune! And her wardrobe! Ha! He can dress her in the finest Acromantula silks out of his daily pocket money."

Ron made a choking sound, but Gilderoy wasn't certain if it was because of his comment or a particularly large slug. Not that he cared.

"And he shows such restraint, keeping his grades only a little better than yours when he could _easily_ out do you, like she does. I can tell such things, you know. Finding monsters all over the world gives you the ability to measure people accurately when you meet them. You must be great friends, right?"

There was that peculiar noise again. Maybe not as great friends as they had been five minutes ago.

"Although I do wonder why he hasn't offered to buy you a new wand, considering how rich he is. He could make it an early Christmas present." The walked a few steps in silence except for Ron's regurgitating slugs. "That's what _I_ would do if _I_ were your best friend," said Gilderoy. "Best friends buy each other presents at Christmas, and as many knuts you get as an allowance, why Harry has ten times — no, a hundred times — that many galleons! Did you realize that? He could buy a wand and not miss the galleons he spent, no more than you would miss spending a knut to buy a candy. But I'm sure you don't care, do you? You're just that kind of friend, never jealous or upset that your friend has so much _more_ money and fame than you _ever_ will have. You're such a good friend to be perfectly happy to stand in his shadow, knowing you'll never have it as easy as he does. Yes, as famous as Mr. Potter is, things will just _naturally_ come his way without him even having to try to get them. People will shower him with attention, gifts, and opportunities simply because he is Harry Potter. Why, with his fame, I'm sure he could get the Seeker position with Chudley Cannons without even having to attend a tryout session, as you would have to do. Imagine just what _you_ would do if you had what he does!"

Yep, definitely, Ron was trying to say something but the slugs were coming too fast. And based on the look in his eyes, he hadn't anything nice to say.

"Unless," and here Gilderoy/Harry stopped. He had had a brainstorm! "Unless you're one of those Wizards who secretly enjoys pain and being humiliated." He stared innocently at the boy. "Do you believe he lets you hang around him just so _he_ can look better because you are so pitiful at casting spells and studying? That _would_ be right humiliating, wouldn't it? For those who appreciate such things, why that would be the perfect relationship!"

Ron looked horrified at that thought, getting out a frantic "No!" even as he coughed up another slug.

The Wizard ignored the boy's frantic denial. "Well, never fear, my young Wizard, your secret is safe with me! I wouldn't _dream_ of spreading gossip like that." They resumed walking.

Ron managed to say, "I'm . . . ," before another batch of slugs burst forth.

"However," Gilderoy/Harry continued, blithely ignoring Ron's struggling protests, "I _will_ have to tell the Headmaster and your Head of House of your predilections so that _they_ can keep an eye on you. We wouldn't want those little humiliation and pain games of yours getting carried away and actually causing you permanent physical harm!"

Ron looked positively desperate, "No! No!" And was again interrupted by more slugs.

"Excellent, I'm so _glad_ you agree."

The Hospital Wing doors finally came into sight. "Ah, here we are," Harry/Gilderoy, guiding the sick boy with his nearly full bucket of slugs through the doors. "Madam Pomfrey," he called loudly and jovially, "We have need of your assistance."

As the Witch hurried over, the Wizard turned to the boy and added, loudly, "You should seriously consider confiding in your only two friends. I'm _sure_ they would understand your unique needs. If you want, I can even broach the subject to them for you so they can properly maintain the best levels of humiliation and not leave you unsatisfied."

Ron looked like he might faint at any moment.

Harry knew Madam Pomfrey passionately hated people telling her how to do her job, which he proceeded to do. She chased the irritatingly and apparently useless Professor out of her ward in under a minute. The hex he dodged from her as he reached the doors was surely just an accident. She _was_ a Healer, after all.

(◎_⊙)

Sunday, the last day of Harry's detention and after a gruelling evening addressing letters and listening to his D.A.D.A. Professor discuss his books, interspaced with advice on how to woo Witches, especially a certain bushy-haired bookworm know-it-all, Harry heard a voice, a voice of breathtaking, ice-cold venom.

 _§Come . . . come to me. Let me rip you . . . . Let me tear you . . . . Let me kill you . . ._.§

"What?" the student said loudly.

"I know!" said Lockhart. "Six solid months at the top of the best-seller list! Broke all records!"

"No," said Harry frantically. "That voice!"

"Sorry?" said Lockhart, pretending to look puzzled. "What voice?"

"That — that voice that said — didn't you hear it?"

Lockhart looked at Harry in high astonishment.

"What _are_ you talking about, Harry? Perhaps you're getting a little drowsy? _Great Scott_ — look at the time! "We've been here nearly four hours! I'd never have believed it — the time's flown, hasn't it?"

Gilderoy sighed as the door closed behind Harry, rubbing the side of his face tiredly. Now the game began in earnest.

(⊙_◎)

Breakfast Monday morning was another win for Lockhart. He hadn't planned to do this particular task until much later, but when opportunity appears . . . . And knowing he was helping Neville so early helped assuage his guilt at seeing the boy die defending a Muggle-born family and giving him time to escape after destroying the Hufflepuff Cup's Horcrux.

"Merlin, Hermione! This year is going to be _awful_ ," the human garbage disposal said. "What with all the extra work from that git D.A.D.A. professor, and in addition to all our other classes, I think that before the year ends I'll be in the magically exhausted section of the Infirmary," complained Ron as they entered the Great Hall ahead of several Slytherins.

"Actually, it's not that difficult, Ron," Hermione admonished. "All Professor Lockhart told us to do was re-read a book we all read last year.

"We have a _wonderful_ professor in Professor Lockhart. One with vast field experience, and more than willing to share that knowledge with us. _You_ should watch and learn from _Harry_. He is doing quite brilliant and winning points for our House instead of losing them like you do." She missed the darkening expression on the redhead's face at that comparison as she turned to her other best friend. "By the way, Harry, you're doing very good. You should do that in our other subjects."

"Er, hmm," Harry said eloquently. "Thanks, Hermione. But D.A.D.A. is easy for me. Just like Herbology is for Neville. I can't compare to him, he is just ace in that subject," Harry said as they neared the Gryffindor table.

Harry wasn't used to being back at Hogwarts yet. If he had been then he would have noticed the Slytherins following them, listening closely. As well as who those Slytherins were.

"What did I just hear?" Malfoy said loudly, drawing the attention of everyone in the Great Hall. "Potty thinks Neville is great? Surely, Potter, you know that Neville is a squib who cannot do even basic magic! To consider Longbottom good at anything is a serious insult. He is a bane to the name of Longbottoms." Draco's bookends, Crabbe and Goyle, chuckled at that, while Pansy Parkinson giggled behind her hand.

Gilderoy looked around for Neville. He had arrived before the other Gryffindors and was eating. Neville had his fork partway to his mouth. As Lockhart watched, and the rest of the hall laughed, Neville stood, clearly planning on leaving the hall.

"It would do you good to hold your tongue, young Mr. Malfoy," said Lockhart sternly, approaching from his position by the doors. He had been waiting for Harry and his friends to arrive before making his own entrance. He was overdressed for the occasion, as usual, wearing his mauve coordinated outfit. "Ten points for disrupting breakfast and ten more for spreading lies about a fellow student. Now go and sit at your table and eat your breakfast. Quickly."

"I object, Professor Lockhart," said the Slytherin Prefect Charlus Gamp. "It is Potter who is spreading lies about the magical prowess of Longbottom. Everybody knows he is little better than a squib. It is unfair to deduct points from our House. Mr. Potter is the one who should be disciplined for this."

This statement got a chorus of agreement from the Slytherin table and soon the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs joined in.

House points honestly earned through superior work should not be lost by simple acts, was the popular sentiment. It was bad enough that Professor Snape tended to pick on Gryffindor, they didn't want another professor skewing the system even more.

By this time, Neville had reached the table's end — his tears barely contained, with his head down in shame and back bent in defeat.

"One second, Mr. Longbottom." Lockhart moved towards Neville and caught him by his shoulder.

"Please sir, don't. I cannot take it," Neville pleaded.

Lockhart squeezed the Gryffindor's shoulder. "It's okay Neville," he said kindly. "They can think whatever they want. But it is not true."

"Not true? I am the most pathetic student the school has ever seen. I can do nothing." Neville cried. Nearby students all nodded in agreement. Malfoy smiled smugly.

"Neville, listen to me, you're wrong. You don't _know_ your own strength." Lockhart gently guided the boy back towards the doors, subtly erecting a muffling enchantment. "Tell me Neville, How useful is a sapling?"

"A sapling sir? It just sprouted from seed. Very few are useful at the stage, but when allowed to grow it might become an herb or shrub or a tree where it will be most useful," Neville replied tiredly.

" _Exactly_. All the pre-OWL students are in the sapling stage. Some grow faster than others might, others could be more useful, but all are just that, saplings. When allowed to grow, these saplings will grow into valuable plants, each unique but definitely useful. From what I see in you, Mr. Longbottom, you will grow into a huge tree that provides shade and shelter, fruits and flowers, and supports a great level of life. Don't take what others say about you to heart. You are much _more_ capable than what you assume."

"Do you really think so, sir?" asked Neville, despair plain in his tone.

"Of course," Lockhart replied gently. He turned the child back into the Great Hall. "You would like a little demonstration? Close your eyes and imagine this. You, your father, and your mother on a picnic in a rose garden."

Neville immediately froze and looked up at him with an expression reminiscent of a deer unexpectedly caught in bright lights. "Relax my boy. I know this is hard for you, but a little imagination shan't hurt, will it?" Gilderoy/Harry said as confidently as he could. "Now _imagine_ yourself laughing and playing tag with your father, and your mother's looking at you admiringly. Can you do that? Close your eyes, it might help."

Neville slowly nodded. Gently rubbing the boy's back, Harry/Gilderoy said softly, "Now carefully look at your mother. She loves you so very much. You can see it in her eyes, the way her hair swings in the breeze and the way her smile makes your tummy warm. The look in her eyes when she sees that her little boy is someone grown to be so strong, _you_ are her wonder. Now look at her spread arms, which are inviting you to a hug. The happiness in her is like the warmth that radiates from the sun." Neville, eyes now closed, moved as if in a trance, imagining the whole thing while Gilderoy carefully guided him back towards the Gryffindor table, the boy barely noticing he was moving. The other students watched as they returned, wondering what the Professor was saying that they could not hear, the younger ones not realizing that Harry/Gilderoy had cast a mild muffling charm to hide his words.

"Now look at your father. He is the strongest man in the whole wide world. He radiates strength and confidence. Move closer to them and hug them, Neville. Hug them tightly. Say that you love them, Neville. Say it, with each syllable showing how much you love them and want them to be with you. Say it, Neville, say it." Neville was mesmerized with the vision and tears dripped freely from his eyes and yet his face had the most peaceful expression anyone had seen. Some were envious. His lips moved as he quietly said, "I love you." Thank Merlin the silencing spell blurred ones lips or those capable of lip-reading would have had a field day, thinking Neville was speaking to Lockhart!

"Feel that love flowing all through your body, down your legs, down your arms, your very fingers tingle with the feeling of that love."

Lockhart slowly tapped Neville to make him open his eyes and in the same soothing voice said, "Here, hold this," and handed him a thirteen-inch long wand, made of Cherry wood with a unicorn hair. Surreptitiously, he canceled the muffling charm.

"Now lift your hand and imagine that love flowing down your arm and out your hand, like the gentle flow of water. Now say _Expecto Patronum_."

Neville's lips move as he silently said, " _Expecto Patronum."_ The tip of the wand glowed slightly.

"Excellent, Neville, excellent. Now say it strong, say it loud, make your father and mother proud with your love and confidence as you say it."

Neville, still in that blissful state, did exactly as his Professor requested. A white light burst from Neville's wand, blinding the entire hall. The light coalesced into a beagle, which looked around the hall, searching for danger. Seeing none, it began to gambol about Neville's feet as he stared at it, smiling blissfully at the visible manifestation of his love for his parents. While everyone was still blinking at the bright light, Gilderoy gently removed the wand from Neville's hand and stashed it back in his cloak with the others.

Everybody was awestruck. Slowly the light diminished and the beautiful creature vanished.

"Now, Mr. Gamp, what is that called?" Lockhart asked turning to the stunned Prefect and bringing his audience from their awe.

"That, that sir, is a fully corporeal _patronus_." Charlus replied with some difficulty.

"Excellent! Five Points to Slytherin. Now that you know what the boy has achieved, you should also know that the _Patronus_ is a very advanced charm. Let me also inform you that ninety-nine percent of the NEWT students will fail to produce one, and even highly qualified wizards can conjure barely a white mist." He allowed the statement to settle, and continued, "Now who says this boy, who achieved this phenomenon, is anything but a powerful Wizard?"

There was silence in the entire hall as everyone looked at Neville in awe. "Ten points, Mr. Longbottom, for the excellent _Patronus_ Charm demonstration."

The D.A.D.A. Professor turned to address the students, "Magic is all about intent and will. The deeper the intent and the more powerful the will, the more powerful the magic will be. It is in the very _nature_ of magic to respond to intent. It was Mr. Longbottom's love that strengthened his intent and today made him the youngest Wizard to achieve a _Fully. Corporeal. Patronus_.

"Eleven years ago, it was his parents' deep-rooted love of that allowed a young toddler to defeat the darkest tyrant known. It is the intent that drives magic and the emotions that drive the intent. It is not the greatness of a single person, but the greatness of magic.

"Fools think they have achieved an in-depth knowledge of magic by reading books, but fail miserably in understanding it. It has been proven repeatedly that Magic is not measurable, it cannot be created, but only transformed from one form to another. Every one of you will have to understand _that_ to become great wizards in your own right."

The other Professors were staring at both Lockhart and Neville, astounded at what they had just seen and heard.

Gilderoy/Harry leaned down and said softly, "Go sit with Mr. Potter and Miss Granger. Ignore that Ron fellow, he's an idiot."

Neville looked back at him frowning slightly, but the good feeling brought on by the _patronus_ refused to dissipate, and he hurried over to the Gryffindor table. Hermione quickly began an inquisition on how he had produced the _patronus_ while Harry listened attentively. Ron looked at his broken wand and scowled at the other three.

Headmaster Dumbeldore had decided to eat in his office that morning, catching up on his paperwork. On hearing what had happened, he vowed to be in the Great Hall for every meal. How had that _fraud_ of a Professor managed to get that ineffectual bumbler _Neville Longbottom_ to cast a _patronus_?

Lockhart appeared a buffoon of a narcissistic Wizard, but twice, now, he had appeared much more competent than Dumbledore had expected of him. Fortunately, he didn't seem more than superficially interested in Harry. He would require some close watching, though, just in case. Dumbledore couldn't risk any interference in his plans.

Later, as Neville headed to his first class, Hannah Abbott came up to him and said, "Hey Neville, that was really cool. I, I never thought you would be able to do something that amazing." She walked with him to their next class, and even sat beside him. Watching Neville blush amused Harry and Hermione, sitting on his other side. Ron scowled.

The rest of the morning passed in a blur for Neville. The classwork formed a convenient distraction. But in between classes? He brooded. He could not believe what he had done. He could not understand what had happened. All the upper years said he had done a very complicated spell that many grown Wizards couldn't even _think_ of doing. And now, he was a celebrity! People had been coming up to him all morning. People who had ignored him, or even looked down on him, were suddenly vying to sit beside him.

It was when he was on his way to dinner that it hit him. _People would expect great things from him._ Just like at home where his grandma was continually voicing her disappointment in him for failing to live up to her expectations. And now that visible disappointment was going to be here! His knees buckled, and he staggered. If everyone thought him a failure, he disappointed no one.

"What's wrong, Mr. Longbottom?" came a voice beside him. It was Susan Bones. Others were gathering around him. He looked at them wildly. He couldn't stand to see those disappointed looks here, not here, as he did at home. He had to get away. He pushed his way through the circle and started running wildly out of the Castle. He ran and ran and ran until he could run no more, and he collapsed near the lake. His stomach and ribs hurt from running, and sweat poured down his face. His legs seemed to be on fire. He hated himself. He couldn't do anything. He was pathetic. He just laid on the ground, too exhausted to cry.

"Hey, Mr. Longbottom, get up!" The D.A.D.A. professor was standing beside him. He said, "So you've decided to get in shape by running? That's good. But running in robes, that's bad. You need proper attire. Here, allow me." The Professor flicked his wand and Neville's was dressed in red and gold appointed t-shirt, shorts, and running shoes. The Professor, Neville saw, was dressed the same, all shades of colour-coordinated lilac.

"There, now you can run." Lockhart started to leave, but returned. "This is my jogging time, join me and I will teach you a thing or two about it. Come on, child." The Wizard cajoled the boy into running with him. Panting for breath, Neville could barely walk and allowed Lockhart to drag him around the lake. Before long, he collapsed again.

"This is the first time you are running, huh? But running in t-shirt and shorts," Lockhart said, "is way better than running in the robes, don't you think?"

Neville nodded, still panting.

"Similarly, you will find it much easier to focus your magic with a wand that suits you instead of your father's." Lockhart said.

Neville looked horrified. "But it is my father's wand, sir, I cannot give it up. I simply can't."

"Who said you should? I am not asking you to throw away your father's wand, Mr. Longbottom — it's important to you. Keep it with your _mother's_ wand in a place of honour.

"You will find that your father's clothes at age twenty will not fit you today, similarly, your father's wand does not fit you."

"No, sir, that cannot be possible." Neville replied haughtily, echoing his grandmother.

"Mr. Longbottom, your grandmother sees your father in you, but remember you are as much your _mother_ as you are your _father_. Your grandma fails to see that. You must accept you have _both_ your mother and father in you. By only using your _father's_ wand, you are disrespecting your _mother_. Tell me, why are you using only your _father's_ wand and not your _mother's_? Do you not love and respect your _mother_?"

Neville looked stunned. "I, I . . . ." Neville gulped and remained silent.

"Here, try this," Gilderoy handed the boy his wand.

Neville stared at it, eyes wide. "I couldn't do that, it's _your_ wand!"

"Take it."

Reluctantly, Neville took the wand and held it as if he thought it were glass.

"Good. Now cast _Wingardium_ _Leviosa_ on that leaf." Lockhart pointed.

The boy did, but nothing happened.

"Now, try your wand," the Wizard said taking his wand back.

The leaf, fluttering, barely rose an inch into the air.

"Good. Now try this one," and handed the boy the same wand from that morning.

The leaf shot into the air and disappeared.

Neville stared up, then at the wand in his hand.

"You see, Mr. Longbottom, how different wands work differently for the same Wizard?"

Neville nodded, still wide-eyed.

"Tell you grandmother about this. Tell her you cast a _Patronus_ with one wand, but can barely cast _Wingardium_ _Leviosa_ on a leaf with your father's wand. Tell her _I_ , the Great Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defence League, five-time winner of _Witch Weekly's_ Most-Charming-Smile Award, and your beloved Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor, said she was actively _hurting_ you by forcing you to use an incompatible wand. If she refuses, let me know, I will convince her of the error in her thinking."

They stood silent for several moments.

"Well," said Gilderoy, rubbing his hands together, "I don't know about you, but I've worked up an appetite! Miksy!" A house-elf appeared. "Professor Two Sir has called Miksy?"

"Yes, a quick picnic dinner please!"

"Mipsy can do that, Sir." She disappeared.

Later that afternoon, an owl took a letter to Neville's grandmother relaying the day's events. That evening, dozens of other owls took flight, also relaying the day's events. The first of many seismic changes in the Wizarding political arena had started.


	5. Chapter 5 Closeting One, Freeing Another

**5\. Closeting One, Freeing Another**

His plot to break up the "Golden Trio" was progressing nicely. His comments to the Headmaster and Professor McGonagall about Ron's "predilections" had born fruit, of a sort. The Headmaster had promptly, and subtly, violated the boy's mind, later declaring that he 'knew' the boy wasn't into humiliation and pain as Lockhart had insinuated. And Lockhart had promptly turned them in another direction. While it was true that the magical world was more accepting of same sex couples, they still were scandal-worthy in Wizarding England. _Especially_ regarding Wizards expected to provide Heirs to a House. And almost impossible to disprove no matter how much one protested.

Lockhart had questioned the Headmaster at the staff meeting two weeks into the term. "Has Mr. Weasley confessed his . . . _peculiarities_ to his friends, yet, Headmaster?" At the Headmaster's sharp look, Gilderoy had continued, "You remember, I told you in the first week that he seemed to . . . enjoy . . . things most Wizards find . . . unpalatable." With the exception of Madam Pomfrey, the others had looked puzzled. Madam Pomfrey was giving him a narrow-eyed look as she remembered his comment for Ron's slugfest incident. He had caught Professor Snape especially flat-footed. "Not that I have an objection to such pursuits, mind you. For those that like that sort of thing, well, I suppose it's just the sort of thing they like!" he concluded happily, beaming.

Eyes twinkling, the Headmaster had said, "Nothing to worry about, Professor Lockhart, you simply misunderstood what you saw and heard."

"But he seems to get himself into such _humiliating_ situations, don't you know? I can't tell you _how_ many times I've heard him and Mr. Malfoy having words. And Mr. Malfoy _always_ seems to get the better of him. It's as if Mr. Weasley _enjoys_ it when Mr. Malfoy publicly humiliates him." Gilderoy tried to project an aura of confusion. "If he didn't want such situations why would he set them up? After all, he could simply ignore any comments made by Mr. Malfoy as beneath him as a Pure-blood. Instead, he responds in a way guaranteed to escalate things, as if he _enjoyed_ the encounter _regardless_ of his apparent anger."

Professor Snape was listening with eyebrows raised, and the hint of a smirk. He clearly understood what Gilderoy was implying and was amused that Lockhart was apparently so simple as to believe such things.

"No, no, Professor Lockhart. The boy merely has a temper, and Mr. Malfoy enjoys provoking him. It's all in good fun, the Houses' rivalry in verbal action," the Headmaster assured him.

"Oh." Gilderoy said as if he finally understood he had made a mistake as to the boy's intentions. Then he exclaimed, as if he had just thought of it, "Is this a case of opposites attract? Mr. Malfoy is a fine looking lad, after all. Unlike most lads his age he takes his appearance seriously and except for his conflicts with Mr. Weasley, Mr. Potter, and Miss Granger he has impeccable manners. And both _are_ Pure-bloods." He paused contemplatively, "Usually you see such opposite pairing between Wizards and Witches in the upper years. But with this age group, the Wizards usually resort to insults and verbal attacks as a way to show their interest in Witches, except we're talking about two Wizards in this case. The youngsters haven't yet learned that you gather more ants with sugar than vinegar."

Professor Snape coughed. Professor Flitwick fell out of his chair. The others all indicated some sort of shock at that insinuation.

The Headmaster paused and cleared his throat. He had not considered that, it appeared. "No, definitely not that, Professor Lockhart. I assure you, none of your concerns has any basis in fact. May we continue?"

The rest of the conference passed quickly, and Harry/Gilderoy did his best to seem as a flighty airhead. His last comment as they were leaving the conference room was to Professor Snape, while Professor McGonagall hovered in the background, "Well, still, the saying, ' _where there's smoke, there's fire_ ,' still seems appropriate for Mr. Weasley and Mr. Malfoy. They fight like some of the old married couples I've seen. And it does appear as if Mr. Malfoy seeks out Mr. Weasley just for the pleasure of his company, even if it is under the guise of an argument." The Transfiguration Professor seemed a bit concerned about her trio of lions, after that. Professor Snape seemed more than a little taken aback at the thought.

(⊙_⊙)

"Now I want everyone to divide your books into two piles to represent two sessions of the class," Lockhart said. The two-week review had turned into a three-week remedial course. Heavy on practical work in the class, and just as heavy on theory in the homework. He had even given the Second Year classes detention the second and third Saturdays of the month for four hours and worked them _hard_ on the practical side of casting spells. And then given them all, except Ron, five points each for their improvement each day. Ron's broken wand was really holding him back.

Finally, though, the Second Year students were where they should have been on September 1st. Today was the start of the Second Year coursework.

He paused and surveyed the class, hands on hips, teeth flashing in the sunlight coming in the windows, his hair perfectly coiffed, and his periwinkle robes just as perfectly tailored.

"In the first part, we will go with the regular curriculum as prescribed by the ministry studying the Dark Creatures one is likely to meet, and in the second part we discuss various spells, curses, jinxes, and what not — _practical_ Defence Against Dark Arts." They _were_ going to learn the counters to _all_ the Dark spells he had encountered in fighting Death Eaters. "Learning this is _easy_! Once you recognize the patterns, everything will fall into place. Certain things you need to memorize, others require hours of practice. But when you are done, you'll look back and say, 'Wow, that was hard work, but it was _easy_!'

"My books, which you all bought, were designed to act as a guide as I expected brighter prospects from you all, but, alas, now they are not as useful as I had anticipated. So I am giving all of you a copy of _The Ins and Outs of Defence Against Dark Arts_ , an _excellent_ book in that subject by Mr. Shaun MacPhie, who is brilliant in this field. Even _I_ have learned a thing or two from him. As you see, it is on your desks and it is available to you with your promise that you will pass it on to next year's students, after the end of this year, in a good, usable condition. Just leave your copy in the library on the last day of school. Am I clear?"

Shaun MacPhie was one of the brilliant heroes Lockhart had _oblivated_ and claimed his victory as own. The two souls agreed only on giving the valiant hero a bit of recognition though one fought for revealing the entire truth and the other tried to suppress that as much as possible.

All his students complained about the workload, especially the Fifth and Seventh Year students, but they were beginning to see that his method of teaching was superior to their previous teachers. They were actually _learning_ the spells and to cast them quickly. More and more Wizards were beginning to agree with the Witches that Lockhart was a great Professor. And several Witches had even not so subtly propositioned him!

Gilderoy was all for it, with a quick _obliviate_ to prevent any scandalous stories from emerging later, but Harry put his foot down. The Witches were turned away, frustrated. Gilderoy was outraged, repeatedly telling Harry that the age of consent under Wizarding Common Law was eleven (established when the International Statute of Secrecy in 1692 separated the Wizarding World from the Muggle World — English Common Law became Wizarding Common Law. And Wizards could care less what laws, and the reasons for them, that the English Muggles had passed since then, he had explained).

Harry's response was that it was not an age issue, but one of power. In a professor/student relationship, someone could argue that the student felt she had no choice, it would affect her grade to say no, or that she had expected to earn a better grade by doing it. Thus, all such relationships were tainted from the beginning. It was best to avoid them entirely.

Slyly, Gilderoy pointed out that meant that any Sixth or Seventh Year Witches not in his D.A.D.A. class were fair game. Harry stalled him. Girls still made him nervous. The only girl he felt comfortable around was Hermione. And because she was now a thirteen-year-old, to pursue _that_ any farther was wildly inappropriate, he felt. She belonged to Harry-now, not Harry-future.

Forcing the students to sit in Wizard-Witch pairs and swapping them every class kept Harry and Ron separated while sharing the misery that was Ron with everyone. Oddly enough, no one appeared to notice that Gilderoy teamed Harry with Hermione far more frequently than chance would suggest. The Witches tended to argue over who sat with Neville.

That simpleton, Ron, still hadn't twigged to the fact that all he had to do was ask and Harry gladly would hand him the money for a new wand. His false pride prevented that easy solution and so Ron suffered on with his self-imposed handicap. And got angrier and angrier with his _inconsiderate_ friend for not helping him.

Gilderoy, during Harry's detentions, had subtly suggested that giving Ron the galleons or gifting the wand would be an insult to the boy's pride. It would be better if Harry just pretended not to notice the redhead's difficulties. Compounding the situation, Gilderoy, during the lone detention Ron spent with him instead of Mr. Filch or Professor Snape; had subtly suggested Harry was being a tightwad and didn't want to share his galleons as a proper _best_ -friend would have. He had subtly suggested that maybe Harry really _didn't_ consider Ron to be _that_ close a friend, regardless of what he said, or he would pay far more attention to Ron and far less to that know-it-all bookworm Hermione.

During his detentions, Gilderoy also repeatedly declared to Harry how important it was to have high grades and how Hermione could help Harry achieve his maximum potential. He pointed out how skiving off on study and homework, as Ron did, directly led to poorer grades and performance. Noting that the Dursleys considered him a lazy stupid freak and _expected_ him to _fail_ brought a gleam of determination to Harry's eyes — and drove him to spending more time studying and away from Ron.

And he had broken Hermione of the habit of being the first to raise her hand to answer any question — she had to compose her answers as a limerick. She had taken to whispering the answers to her friends when she couldn't come up with a good one fast enough. He noticed she was sticking parchments into her book with prewritten limericks just in case he asked questions on those topics. Because they were invariably on the most important points on each topic, Harry asked questions on things that depended on knowing those important points, but not mentioning them directly. It was quite amusing to watch her frustration at creating all those limericks and then not being able to use them.

(◎_⊙)

By now, most of the staff were watching Ron and Draco with a bit of worry, and Professor Snape seemed to be keeping an unusually close eye on his snake. Snape. Using his mind rapes, he knew the boys hated each other, but it was the _appearance_ of a relationship that he wanted to avoid. That meant fewer incidents between the Slytherins and the Gryffindors, as he tended to call Draco over whenever he noticed Ron was about. That, in turn, resulted in a quieter Castle for all concerned. The Headmaster seemed a bit flummoxed, as if he had no idea how to handle the situation.

Harry/Gilderoy knew neither boy was a poof, but it was just so much _fun_ to take the micky out of the staff by saying things like, "I think Mr. Weasley is _jealous_ of how much time Mr. Goyle and Mr. Crabbe spend with Mr. Malfoy. Have you seen the way he _glares_ at them, even when they aren't anywhere near Mr. Malfoy?" and "Have you noticed that whenever Mr. Malfoy has words with Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley always jealously butts in, as if he can't _stand_ the thought that Mr. Malfoy might be paying more attention to Mr. Potter than to himself?" Making a few of those comments where older students could hear started a very convenient rumour mill.

Gilderoy continued to press Neville into the developing "Golden Trio" group, making Ron feel the outsider as he struggled with lessons that the others breezed through. Neville's new wand made a huge difference in his self-confidence, and that confidence showed up in his homework and study habits. The three, Harry, Hermione, and Neville were consistently at the top of their classes. Ron was a distant follower, barely passing the tests and homework. And his abysmal wand prevented his spellcasting from coming close to matching his friends' efforts. His anger at Harry bled over to Hermione, so he was reluctant to ask for help. And if he did ask, he blew up when she refused simply to let him copy her work. His grades suffered as a result, reinforcing the gap between him and his friends.

Harry had taken Gilderoy/Harry's advice about Colin, and they got together twice a month for an hour or so. Colin would have Harry pose at various locations doing magical things. Then, in an empty classroom, they would review the pictures and pick the best ones for distribution, and decide which ones needed reshooting. Colin happily spread the word that the photos were available and where the money went — his mostly to camera related expenses and Harry's to the Quidditch Broom Fund. Several times Harry agreed to specific picture requests, charging extra for the students that wanted to pose with him.

Just to annoy Harry, Gilderoy had happily spread the news to all the Firsties that there was a Harry Potter Fan club. The club dues included _two_ discounted autographed pictures of Harry — Gilderoy had made that suggestion to Colin. Colin made no profit on those two, but sold far more of the new photos each month as Harry okayed them to club members than he would have otherwise. He just brought a batch of newly approved copies to each meeting, and _viola_ , he sold them all, increasing his income in one big jump. Gilderoy's quite gift of a feather-light bottomless bag made it easy for the small boy to carry his entire inventory and satisfy any customer on the spot.

Malfoy had had at first taunted Harry about his "glory-seeking." Harry, after some coaching by Gilderoy, had shut him down by merely observing that the other boy was just jealous of his success. And pointing out that someday Draco might be able to garner some fame and respect himself and no longer need to use his slogan, "When my father hears about this . . . ."

When he first heard what Colin and Harry were doing, Ron had exploded in a jealous rage. Even _after_ being told the profits were going to get new brooms for the teams, he still kept his temper at a low boil over the unfairness of his best friend buying expensive brooms for the teams while ignoring his 'best-friend's' malfunctioning wand. The Fan Club kept up the pressure as he was _constantly_ seeing evidence of his best-friend's fame wherever he looked.

That resentment flared up even higher when _The Daily Prophet_ announced Harry's lawsuit versus the publishers, especially as the desire to taunt Harry brought the Malfoy heir to the quartet even more often than before.

.

 **Boy-Who-Lived is Boy-Who-Sues!**

 _By Rita Skeeter_

 _Today, Fleecem, Cheatem, and Beatem announced that Harry Potter, the famous Boy-Who-Lived, was filing suit against four publishers. Winickus Press, Flourish & Blotts Publishers, L. C. A. Comics, and Little Red Books. All were served legal parchments for portraying as truth stories about Harry Potter that they knew were lies, for defamation of character of an Ancient and Noble House, invasion of privacy of an Ancient and Noble House, theft of royalties from an Ancient and Noble House, and falsely claiming trademark on an Ancient and Noble House. _

_Gilderoy Lockhart, author of such works as Magical Me (Biography) and Gilderoy Lockhart's Guide to Household Pests, and five-time winner of Witch Weekly's Most-Charming-Smile Award explained, "Mr. Potter came to me recently complaining about these books that had been written about him without his knowledge or permission. He asked my help in the matter."_

 _And by "these books" the famous author indicated a pile of books on the table at the legal offices of Fleecem, Cheatem, and Beatem. Books with titles such as "Harry Potter and the Golden Needle," "Harry Potter and the Price of Being Noble," "Harry Potter and the Muggleborn Uprising," all books our children read and enjoyed. All of which purported to tell the true story of Harry Potter's life after October 31st, 1981._

 _Naturally, this well-known author was happy to lend his extensive experience in the publishing world to a young Wizard in need of proper guidance. Now a Professor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Professor Lockhart added, "The young Wizard's guardian's lack of respect in handling the boy's name and public image respect is deplorable." And, lest anyone think this was only about making money, he explained, "Any and all monies earned in the lawsuits will go to The Lily Potter Foundation. The foundation will use that money to assist disadvantaged Wizards and Witches afford the expensive items required when attending Hogwarts — wands, books, potion kits, and so forth." He went on to say, "Mr. Potter is only concerned with regaining control of his public image."_

 _Professor Lockhart said that the monetary damages that he expects the legal firm to collect for the Boy-Who-Lived to be in the thousands of galleons, "After all," he said, "We are talking about over ten years of books being published without a single knut being paid in royalties to Mr. Potter."_

 _Requests for statements from the affected companies were not returned by the time this paper went to press._

 _What astonishes this reporter is the brazen theft of money from an orphan . . . ._

.

It went on in that vein for several more paragraphs, bemoaning the poor state of publishing that they could so abuse the legacy of Harry Potter, to whom the Wizarding World owed so much.

Ron saw all that attention and the money going to his best friend and helping other Wizards and Witches, but _not_ him! It was all too much and the poor boy stormed out of the Great Hall, and assiduously avoided the black-haired Wizard and his friends for most of the next few weeks.

This, naturally, threw Harry, Hermione, and Neville together, and highlighted Ron's envy and ever-present anger when he did re-join them.

(⊙_◎)

"Good Afternoon, boys," Gilderoy said as he leaned against the wall opposite the One-eyed Witch, buffing the nails on his right hand. He was impeccably dressed, of course, in lavender robes. He grinned at them, showing off his perfect smile.

The Weasley twins were staring at him, aghast, both carrying a crate of butterbeer for a planned celebration. They had checked before exiting the secret tunnel that there was no one in the area. How had they missed the Professor? Had the map been in error?

"Good Afternoon . . ."

". . . Professor Lockhart."

"Is there something . . . ,

". . . we can do for you?"

He could see them sweating slightly. Caught, red-handed, they could be expelled for this! They desperately tried to pretend nothing was wrong, that the contraband in their hands wasn't really there.

He put his nail buffer in his pocket. "It's not what you can do for me, but what I can do for you. And your first lesson you have already learned — the map is not infallible."

Their mouths dropped open. How had he learned of their map?

"The Marauders only put on the map what they knew, and there are things in Hogwarts that they never discovered. I used one of them to catch you." The Come-and-Go Room had created a temporary passage from itself to this location. He had simply waited until his alert charm told him the boys were coming out from their passage to come out of his. Except his passage disappeared as soon as he exited it. A mild _Notice-Me-Not_ that he defeated when he spoke finished the prank. "If you ever see something on it you can't explain or understand, let me know.

"Now, then, the two of you are wasting your talents in pranks. You should be developing items that you can _sell_ as pranks — such as invisible glasses that let you see through clothes. I'm sure every boy in Hogwarts would purchase a pair. And then an amulet that makes the glasses useless, that every _girl_ in Hogwarts would buy, as well. In fact, once word of even one pair of glasses gets out, _every_ girl will purchase the amulet! Imagine that, a product with a built-in purchaser base of five hundred students."

The twins stared at him, wide-eyed.

"Actually, you could probably sell the glasses outside Hogwarts," he said thoughtfully. "Perhaps even approach Madam Malkin about licensing to her the preventative charm to include with her robes. That would bring in a steady supply of galleons for expenses."

"Blimey!"

"That's . . . that's _brilliant_!"

"If you work hard enough on your pranks items, you might even be able to open a shop in competition to Zonko's." He paused to let that sink in. "I might even know someone who would be interested in investing in such an endeavour."

Their expressions ran the gamut from surprised to calculating in only a few moments.

"Let me know what you think." He turned to walk away, but stopped and turned back to them. "I expect to see your grades reflect your true intelligence. After all, you never know when an Owl or NEWT in a subject might grant you access to a supplier or expert who would otherwise ignore you." He walked off whistling cheerfully.

(◎_◎)

"Ah, Miss Lovegood!" the D.A.D.A. Professor said as he came up behind her in the corridor. "How _are_ you this _fine_ evening?" He smiled his trademark smile, posing to show off his best side, his teeth gleaming and his plum-coloured robes perfectly arranged. "It's past curfew, shouldn't you be in your dorm?"

The little Witch turned around and looked up at him with large eyes and a dreamy I'm-not-here expression. "Oh, hello professor." She frowned slightly. "You seem remarkably free of wrackspurts." Her gaze sharpened for a moment, "Isn't it a tight fit for the two of you?"

Yes, this was definitely the Luna Lovegood he remembered. He laughed happily. "Not at all, my dear. Plenty of room. But sometimes we disagree _terribly_. I hope in a short while to become simply one again." The girl's insights into people frightened him, sometimes. She was so accurate, but seemed unconcerned with the consequences about blurting out things that might be better kept quiet. "Please don't tell anyone, it's a bit of a secret, you know," he added in a conspiratorial whisper.

She nodded and the far-away look returned.

"And your dorm?" he prompted.

"Oh, the Raven has forgotten its riddle. I blame the nargles."

Harry/Gilderoy smiled cheerily at the girl while seething inside. "Nargles indeed," he said under his breath. "Well, let's check it just _one_ more time, shall we?" He surreptitiously cast a warming charm on the girl. A few minutes later, they were standing in front of Ravenclaw's door. The raven ornament eyed them uncertainly.

"Tell me, my good friend," Lockhart said, "What's the riddle today?"

Silence.

He cast a detection charm at the raven.

"I see." He sighed sadly, then perked up and smiled at the girl. "We'll get this sorted right quick, just you watch," he declared, teeth gleaming in the dimly lit corridor. "Miksy!"

With a POP, a house-elf appeared beside them. "Professor Two Sir has called Miksy?"

"Yes, yes I suppose did," said the professor jovially. "Would you mind fetching Professor Flitwick? Please tell him it's a matter of some importance to his House."

"Miksy does that," the elf said, POPing away.

He looked down at the girl, who was staring off down the corridor.

"I think, Miss Lovegood, that it would do you good to sit with Mr. Potter, Mr. Longbottom, and Miss Granger during meals. Ignore Mr. Weasley, he's an idiot and unworthy of your talents." He leaned closer. "Tell Miss Granger I said there are more things under the Sun than she has ever dreamed — and those things haven't, _yet_ , made it into any books! For example, the Duck-billed Platypus was called impossible and a hoax until one was captured and brought back to England, alive."

The girl looked up at him questioningly.

He smiled back her encouragingly. "Have you seen the thestrals that pull the carriages?"

She nodded.

"Tell Hermione to ask Hagrid to show her the thestral herd. And don't let anyone tell you that you can't sit at the Gryffindor table!" he said sternly. "You are only required to sit at your House table for the official Feasts." He smiled, "You could even invite them to the Ravenclaw table when you feel comfortable with that."

There was a POP and Miksy was back. "Miksy told small professor. He be here soon he say."

"Thank you, Miksy. You may go now. I hope you have a pleasant night." The House-elf stared at him a moment. A huge tear appeared at the corner of her eye. "Youse thanks Miksy?"

He smiled at the House-elf. "Of course I do, you deserve nothing less and considerably more. Now off with you!" and he made a gently shooing motion. The elf POPed away. Luna looked at him speculatively for a time before returning to her usual dreamy state.

Moments later, the diminutive professor came hurrying down the corridor, still shrugging on his robes. "Professor Lockhart, what seems to be the problem?"

"Ah," Harry/Gilderoy turned to the Half-Goblin, "How good of you to come so quickly," He smiled and tilted his head just so to make his hair sway as if touched by a light breeze.

"I was wandering the halls this evening. You see I was pondering how I should write about my experiences here at Hogwarts this year. I realize that the book wouldn't be as exciting as my others would, but for the nostalgia, it might be fun for my fans. I could explore some of the old stories about the Castle, such as what happened to Ravenclaw's Diadem, Hufflepuff's Cup, Slytherin's Locket, and Gryffindor's Sword. Perhaps even find the missing items themselves! Wouldn't that be smashing? And then there's the Chamber of Secrets! Maybe I could call it 'Hunting in Hogwarts'? Hmmm?" He shook his head, tossing his hair artfully.

"So, I was wandering the halls trying to decide where I could get the best background for my cover picture. Have to be careful of where we shoot," he said confidingly. "I don't want the Castle colours to _clash_ with my robes! It mustn't be too dark, or it shan't bring out the colours in my robes and the highlights in my hair. I can't pose in front of any of the House Doors, of course, because some might view that as a slight on the other Houses. The Great Hall is too busy and the colours definitely would pull attention from my robes. The moving staircases might be fun, but the movements might distract people from me. I'm just not _sure_." He sighed dramatically, projecting the image someone frustrated at their lack of progress.

The Charms professor's eye's narrowed dangerously, "I hope you didn't call me out here just to tell me that," he said flatly, fingering his wand.

"What?" said the D.A.D.A. Professor, feigning surprise, "Oh, of course not. I needed to call your attention to your little lost Ravenclaw here." He stepped aside to reveal Luna, now peering dreamily at her Head of House.

Flummoxed, the little professor just stared.

"Yes, as I said, I was wandering the halls and found her doing so as well." He placed a hand on her shoulder. "Well, it _is_ after curfew, so I decided the thing to do would be to escort the young Witch back to her dorm. Imagine my surprise when your raven _refused_ to ask its riddle, even when asked politely! Now, how is Miss Lovegood, a demure and proper young Witch, supposed to return to her dorm when there is no riddle for her to answer? She can see auras quite well, but she _can't_ walk through _closed doors_."

Professor gave a sharp look at Gilderoy and then looked searchingly at Luna. Then he turned to the raven and started casting a detection spell.

"It looks suspiciously like someone has cast a _confundus_ spell on the bird," Gilderoy added helpfully.

"Now," he said, "I'm not one to tell another how to run their House, but surely pranks such as this, leaving the poor girl wandering the cold stone corridors all night, are in bad taste." He paused. "Especially when the dear girl has," here his tone dropped flat, " _no shoes_."

Flitwick took a startled look at the girl's bare feet.

"Yes," Gilderoy continued, "hiding one's shoes is a Firstie prank, but casting a _confundus_ is clearly well above this girl's class's skill level."

His voice was no longer light and airy, "Now it begins to look like upper-year students bullying a lower-year," he said low and sternly. He stared down at the Ravenclaw Head of House. "And aren't Prefects supposed to check that all pre-OWL students are in the dorm and in bed at Lights Out? _Especially_ the Firsties? Someone has obviously _failed_ in their duty." And Flitwick could tell that Gilderoy was clearly thinking that it was one short professor who was at fault and _not_ the Prefects.

Professor Flitwick was looking decidedly upset.

"When I first entered Hogwarts I was told the House was my family, that we looked out and helped one another," Gilderoy continued. "Well, I had _my_ share of 'family' disagreements, but I never maliciously stole things, nor locked anyone out of the Dorm in their bare feet. Nor did anyone do that to me, even when I was at my most obnoxious."

He pulled out his wand. "Let's make a test, shall we? Is it a prank or bullying? I _sincerely_ hope it is merely a lone prank carried a bit too far." He took a deep breath and forcefully said. " _Accio_ _Luna Lovegood's things taken without her permission and are outside her House_!"

The Charms professor took a step back. He had _felt_ that spell!

The three stood in silence and the time passed. After almost a half-a-minute with nothing happening, Lockhart turned to the other two, smiling, and said, "Well. I must admit I am relieved . . . ."

At that moment, a book sedately came flying down the corridor. His face fell, "Ah, maybe not, then."

After a minute, there was a small pile of homework parchments, books, a blouse, and three pairs of shoes — each shoe of a pair came from a different direction. It was a bit more than a dozen items, total, but it was enough to prove his point. Luna was looking at him with a blank expression. Flitwick was furious.

"Well," Gilderoy said quietly, "I will see you at breakfast then." He turned and started back towards his quarters, muttering, "Stalking With Students? Persuading With Professors? Helping At Hogwarts? Bashing a Basilisk?"

"Restraining a Rat," called the little witch, suddenly.

Gilderoy spun, stunned, and stared at the little Ravenclaw. Flitwick was staring, puzzled at both of them.

The flamboyant Wizard abruptly grinned happily, "An _excellent_ suggestion, Miss Lovegood. I shall keep it in mind." He turned back and walked off, whistling a light tune. He would do everything he could to make sure that Luna had the opportunities she so deserved this time around.

The next morning, students were surprised to see that Ravenclaw House had lost _two hundred_ points, and that the Ravenclaw table seemed especially quiet. Almost no one noticed that Luna Lovegood sat between Hermione and Harry. Hermione looked puzzled and was mouthing the words nargle and platypus. Harry and Neville looked completely befuddled. Ron was upset that someone not a Gryffindor dared sit with _his_ best-friend, Harry. Even if he was mad at Harry at the moment for being a spoiled rich prat.

(◎_⊙)

Gilderoy paced back and forth on the seventh floor, opposite a tapestry of some daft Wizard trying to teach trolls ballet — one of the few tapestries that didn't move. He had had a wild thought the night before and was trying it today. He knew that Come-and-Go Room held Ravenclaw's Diadem and the only thing holding him back was that he needed Basilisk poison to destroy the Horcrux. And his current finances were insufficient to acquire what he needed.

But last night, as he was mushing on that, he had thought, 'why not ask the Come-and-Go Room if there was a safer way, a better way to get rid of the Horcruxes?'

Hence, today, he was pacing in front of that room's hidden entrance, thinking, _I need a way to destroy a horcrux without destroying the object containing it_. One his third pass a door appeared — a stone door with a metal handle.

With more than a little trepidation, he grabbed the handle and pulled. Nothing happened. He frowned thinking, and then grinned. He pushed the door, and it slowly and smoothly opened. The foot-thick door was bevelled so that the short corridor inside was bigger than the door by several inches, and a step down, much like a bank vault door mounted backwards. The door's slow movement was because of its great weight and not that the hinges needed oiling. Four yards away was another door. The second foot-thick door was just as massive, also opened away, and similarly bevelled to be bigger inside the chamber into which it opened.

The chamber was a large stone room of perhaps four yards on a side. Engraved into the floor was a runic circle. He bent and examined it. The circle was actually a set of tiny runes repeated around the entire circle, twenty rows total. Other runes covered the rest of the floor, and the door, walls, and ceiling, such that a half-a-dozen runes occupied every square inch.

A scroll was lying on the floor just outside the circle. He picked it up and read, _Wait one hour. Place the horcrux in the circle. Place your wand tip to the circle and say, Exorcizamus immundus spiritus. Immediately exit and close the inner door. Wait five minutes before re-opening the inner door._

"I dub thee, the Horcrux Room!" said Gilderoy gleefully after reading the parchment. He dropped it into his pocket and carefully closed both doors as he exited. The door vanished once he was back out in the corridor.

Now all he had to do was grab the diadem.

He grinned broadly. Gilderoy was beside himself with glee. It was going to be great fun to announce that he had discovered the long lost Diadem of Ravenclaw — _in Hogwarts_! He could almost picture Professor Flitwick's face as he presented the Ravenclaw's lost Diadem to him, saying it was in the Castle for the last fifty years. His books were going to see a huge jump in sales when _that_ news hit the public. He would have to time it very carefully.

Yes, wait until _after_ Ginny opens The Chamber of Secrets, then he can claim he found the diadem while searching for the chamber. Oh, this was shaping up to be the _best_ book of them all! And the best part, it was _ALL HIS DOING_!

He wondered what Dumbledore would say when he told him the diadem had been cursed with extremely evil magic that he, Gilderoy, had managed to vanquish using his in-depth knowledge of runes and a protection circle. And then tell the Headmaster that he is very concerned because he can feel the same taint of evil magic emanating from Mr. Potter's scar, as well as another somewhere in the castle.


	6. Chapter 6 Trick or Treat, Malfoy

**Chapter 6. Trick or Treat, Malfoy**

The days seemed to crawl as Gilderoy waited for the Deathday Party. It was quite an apt name for the day, actually, for Harry. While his friends looked forward to an exciting day of costumes, candy, and parties, the lad mourned the loss of his family.

Neither did Neville look forward to Halloween. The day itself wasn't an issue. Shortly thereafter, though, an attack on his parents had rendered them as good as dead, but without the closure that death brings. Instead, they were in the permanently disabled Spell Damaged ward at St. Mungos. He could see them, but they did not know him or his grandmother. It was a torment of a different sort than Harry knew, but it was a torment.

Halloween finally arrived, and for the first time he could remember, Harry/Gilderoy actually _enjoyed_ himself! The food was good, he wasn't worried about his friends, _he_ knew what was going to happen next. Everything was going according to plan. And having to share his soul with Gilderoy halved the pain centred on his lack of family. And while seeing future Harry's dead friends alive was still a shock, sometimes, Gilderoy remembered his family and his childhood, and how much fun he had had on Halloween. And by allowing Gilderoy a bit more control, Harry discovered that Halloween _could_ be fun. And so was flirting.

And everything _did_ happen, just as it had last time. He had even managed to take the micky out of Snape by insisting that Professor Snape didn't need to waste his valuable time and that _he_ could whip up the Mandrake Restorative Draught instead. Snape had been ready to hex him by the time he relented and allowed as how Professor Snape _probably_ could make the restorative as well as _he_ could. Watching the git, robes billowing dramatically, as he stormed down the corridor later was quite gratifying. The only thing that could have added to his fun would be if he could dock the git House points.

His constant nattering in the background didn't endear him to the Headmaster or Mr. Filch, either. The Wizard Professors still considered him dodgy while the Witches still adored him and hung on his every word. Except Madams Pomfrey and Sprout — they still hadn't forgiven him for trying to tell them how to do their jobs.

(⊙_◎)

"Ten Points from Slytherin for such a derogatory comment, _Mr._ Malfoy." Lockhart appeared out of nowhere and stepped between the blond braggart and the redheaded idiot, smiling broadly. Ron was pointing his broken wand at the Slytherin. Malfoy, being Malfoy, just couldn't seem to avoid calling Hermione a mud-blood every time they met. This time, though, a Professor who didn't believe in bullying in any form had caught him. Neither did that Professor believe in respecting those who had better connections and more political power than he did. Gilderoy was working to change his circumstances, though.

"You cannot remove points from me like that," said Malfoy, shocked at the sudden appearance of the Professor and point loss.

Lockhart arched an eyebrow artfully, a disbelieving expression on his face, "Twenty for questioning a teacher's authority." He put his left hand on his hip, stylishly sweeping his robes back.

"But I didn't _do_ anything!" Malfoy protested.

"Thirty more for suggesting a professor can't see properly, _and_ a detention." Good god, this was _fun_! And explained why Snape seemed to enjoy it so much. His normally expansive smile grew slightly larger at seeing Malfoy's face turn red.

Seeing the hated Weasley suppressing his laughter enraged Malfoy. He couldn't afford to lose face in front of his Slytherin classmates — his bookends Crabbe and Goyle were beside him, with Nott, Zabini, and Parkinson behind him watching. He continued to argue, "But Professor, that blood-traitor pulled his wand on me!"

"Forty points, _Mr_. Malfoy, for using yet _another_ offensive term. And make it a week's detention instead of a day." Harry/Gilderoy shook his head sadly, as if reluctant to penalize a student so much.

"What!?" The child-Wizard was turning an interesting colour of red, somewhat reminiscent of a certain Muggle relative of Harry's.

 _The Dursleys! How_ could _he have forgotten the_ Dursleys _!_

"Sixty points, _Mr_. Malfoy." If his smile were any broader it would touch his ears, just as the Cheshire cat's did.

The small group of Slytherins and Gryffindors in the corridor were staring, stunned. Ron had transitioned for trying to suppress his laughter to standing with his mouth open in amazement.

"You _can't_ do this! _When my father_ _hears_ _about_ _this . . ._!" Draco was almost yelling.

"Don't raise your voice to me, _Mr_. Malfoy! Eighty points, _Mr_. Malfoy. And two weeks detention. Do you want a month's?" Gilderoy said harshly, now frowning prettily — it had taken him _weeks_ to get that particular expression correct, Witches tended to swoon when they saw it.

The Slytherins stopped further debate by Nott's expedient action of slapping his hand across the boy's mouth from behind. He whispered furiously at Crabbe and Goyle until they grabbed Draco's arms and the three started dragging him away. Pansy trailed in their wake casting confused glances between a struggling Draco and Professor Lockhart.

Blaise Zabini turned to the blond-haired professor, "I'm sorry, sir, I don't know what's wrong with Mr. Malfoy, but we'll get him straight to Madam Pomfrey." He was sweating.

The Professor, now with both hands on his hips, his hair swaying slightly as if in a breeze, and looking like a hero staring off into the sunset, stared as the other five disappeared into an alcove. "Yes, perhaps you should. And ten points each from you other five for failing to stop a fellow Slytherin from losing his mind like that.

"It is really quite unseemly," he continued smiling as if he were discussing his latest book, "that the supposedly _cunning_ Slytherins are accosting other students like common Muggle street thugs." His lazy smile disappeared and suddenly he looked much scarier as he scowled. "Lord Slytherin would be _so_ disappointed at the current crop of Slytherins being _unable_ to build alliances outside their House, and antagonizing potential allies in such a _crude_ fashion.

"If Pure-bloods truly _are_ superior to Muggle-borns, then why is Miss Granger here at the top of her entire Second Year?" He waved his right hand elegantly at the stunned girl. "And by a rather wide margin, as well. And, of course, that doesn't explain why Misters Crabbe, Goyle, and Weasley, all Pure-bloods, are nearly at the bottom of the same Year's ranking. Based on that evidence, it would seem that it is the Pure-bloods that are _inferior_ , wouldn't you say?" The remaining Slytherin was red-faced in embarrassment. "Please remind Mr. Malfoy of those pertinent facts when you next see him, as well as his total point loss. I think he might not have been paying attention." He pointed down the corridor with his chin while staring at the boy, obviously dismissing him.

Theodore nodded his head in respect at the Professor, smartly turned on his heel, and then followed his compatriots.

" _Two_ _hundred and ninety_ points," Hermione half whispered, her voice revealing her awed surprise. Harry, Ron, and Neville glanced at her, astonished, and then turned to their Professor.

The Gryffindor Wizards were staring at Lockhart as if they were about to fall to their knees and worship him — _as they well should_ , Gilderoy's voice echoed in the back of Lockhart's mind. Gilderoy preened slightly at the looks of admiration they all had.

"'Cor," said Ron softly, "I never thought I'd see the day when Draco lost that many points. Fred or George have _never_ managed to lose that many points all at once." He hadn't noticed Lockhart lumping him with the two Slytherins as the worst in their Year, too dumbfounded at seeing Draco so chastened.

The professor smiled at them genially, "Well, now that that's sorted, perhaps you should be on with what you were doing before Mr. Malfoy accosted you?"

He watched the four Gryffindors hurry on to tea, knowing that Draco's point loss would spread like a wild fire at supper tonight. The loss of prestige in his House would sting something fierce.

Gilderoy was quite content that the afternoon's project had worked so well. None had noticed the small hex he had cast on the Slytherin braggart when Gilderoy had first appeared and amplifying the boy's anger. Nor that he had cancelled it when Nott had acted. Madam Pomfrey, nor anyone else, would find no evidence of his meddling. And the infuriated boy would predictably send off an owl missive to his parents after tea tonight. He expected to see Mr. Malfoy senior tomorrow afternoon. If things went to plan, he would be _much_ richer by the weekend.

(⊙_⊙)

That Thursday, the next morning, Harry/Gilderoy decided to teach the Second Year students critical thinking.

"Oh, come now, children. Haven't you figured this out yet? It's been _five whole days_! I figured out what the monster was that _night_. It's _simple_!" He beamed at the class. They were looking more than a bit uncertain.

"Let's look at the facts, shall we? First, it's supposed to be _Slytherin's_ Monster, so we ask ourselves, 'what would Lord Slytherin _have_ as a monster?'"

For the first time in a long time, almost the entire class raised their hands.

"Mr. Zabini."

"A snake," he said with a smirk.

"Correct, Mr. Zabini. It _should_ be from the snake family! Next, what snakes, if any, petrify?"

Nobody raised a hand.

"Okay, rephrase the question. What _snakes_ kill _without_ biting?"

Hermione leaned over and whispered to Neville, who raised his hand. At Gilderoy's nod, he said, "Constrictor's like the Boa or Python."

"Correct, but Mrs. Norris wasn't squeezed to death. Anyone else? No? Okay, what _creatures_ do we know petrify?"

Hermione leaned over to Harry and whispered. He raised his hand. "The cockatrice."

"A good example, I've run across one or two in my travels. But _not_ a snake. Anyone else? No?"

"Excellent! Class homework assignment, Slytherin vs Gryffindor, find me a snake that _petrifies_!"

The class groaned.

"Open your books to page . . . ."

(◎_⊙)

The Second Year D.A.D.A. was almost over, less than ten minutes left, when a phoenix _patronus_ flew into the room. The moment Gilderoy saw the silvery-blue creature he cast a muffling spell around himself and the phoenix. No one else heard it say, "Excuse me, Professor Lockhart, but Mr. Malfoy would like to speak with you. Please come to my office."

Earlier that morning, before breakfast, Gilderoy had taken a 'morning constitutional,' and walked to the front gates and left an alert charm on the gates. If Mr. Malfoy came through the gates, he would know it. Similarly, he had placed one on the gargoyle guarding the Headmaster's office.

Unfortunately, they hadn't worked. Just his luck, instead of sending a student or Mr. Malfoy to his class, after allowing the Wizard to enter the school through his floo connection, the Headmaster had sent his bloody _patronus_ instead.

He cast his own _patronus_ , a hyena, and said, "Please tell Mr. Malfoy I would be delighted to meet him in my office as soon as my class is out in ten minutes," and sent it with that message. Then dismissed the muffling spell.

"All right," he said with his brilliant smile, "that should be enough for today. Next class we'll work on falling! Class dismissed!

"Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, Mr. Longbottom, and Miss Granger, one moment _please_!" He really didn't _want_ to include Ron in what was coming next, but felt it might be an opportunity to take points and add a detention or two, and farther separate him from Harry and Hermione.

"Follow me, please." He took them to his office. "Sit," he said, pointing at a couch against one wall.

"Tell me," he said, sitting behind his desk, "What do you think of the class so far? You four cover the entire range of the class, from top to bottom."

The four students looked at each other, they clearly didn't understand why he would ask them that question.

It took him a minute to get them to understand he really did want to know what they thought of his class compared to their previous Professor, and the other professors in the castle. They spent a few minutes telling him how much better he was than Quirrell. Truthfully, he didn't really care. He was just killing time. So, for the next five minutes they talked about what they thought were the strengths and weaknesses of his class. Ron, naturally, complained about the copious amounts of homework.

When Malfoy appeared, announced by Lockhart's warning chime — and the children clearly saw him walking up to the door in the mirror — Gilderoy acted with precision. With a simple swish and flick of his wand, Lockhart silenced, bound, and disillusioned the children. A second flick and a glamour made the couch appear to be a bookcase. And gave the four a front-row seat for the action.

They were about to get a lesson in manipulation: How to use an opponent's belief in their own superiority and firm belief that they were far smarter to ruin an enemy just as easily as combat.

"Welcome, Mr. Malfoy! What a _surprise_ that you have come to see my humble self," he said as he opened the door and waved the pompous Pure-blood inside with a sweeping gesture.

"I am here on behalf of my son, Professor. It is extremely unreasonable to remove so many house points, two hundred and ninety, for a simple mistake. I, as Head of the Board of Governors for this school, cannot allow this," Lucius Malfoy said in an authoritative voice as he entered.

As the blond-haired suspected-ponce had expected, Draco had duly owled his senior about the insult the Half-blooded professor gave to the Malfoy House. And the subsequent loss of prestige for Draco. That Draco knew his father considered the peacock-dressing Wizard to be rather dim-witted only added farther insult to the matter.

"That was _never_ my intention, Mr Malfoy," Lockhart said in unctuously. "Kindly take a seat here. Please forgive my lack of furnishings to properly honour such an important Pure-blooded and Head of an Ancient and Noble house as yourself," he continued, playing the part of someone desperately trying to placate a powerful superior. "Would you like some tea?" he said, a silver tea set appearing on his desk. "Fresh from India this morning," he added subserviently.

"Thank you," Mr. Malfoy said graciously, sitting and accepting the offered cup.

"Young Draco was lacking quite more than a _little_ finesse in his words and I was _forced_ to do what I did," Gilderoy said, projecting regret at what he had done. "For being a child of such an important House as Malfoy, I was surprised at his failure to employ the cunning and tact that the House of Slytherin is renowned to possess. Not to mention the insult to manners in using such a vile term in front of Miss Parkinson, a young Lady from an important House looking to affiliate itself with yours." Gilderoy had to let the Wizard know his son had transgressed Wizardly etiquette. "One simply doesn't say such things in front of Ladies."

Harry/Gilderoy didn't need legilimency to know what the Pure-blood was thinking. Just watching his expression and listening to his projected emotions gave Lockhart all he needed to know to guide the Wizard down the primrose path to wrack and ruin.

' _This fraud wants nothing more than attention and whatever money he can get with it. To have me in this position must puff up his self-importance,_ ' Malfoy thought. "I must accept that my son's behaviour was not up to your expectations, Professor," he said, condescendingly, "but losing so many house points is simply outrageous for such a _minor_ offense."

"I can see that," Lockhart answered consolingly. "He must be very dejected at making such an unlettered _fool_ of himself before his fellow House members." He paused as it thinking. "I suppose I could consider this as an _isolated_ incident of childhood tendencies and reverse the punishment. As you perhaps may have heard, Mr Malfoy, things are quite negotiable with me."

' _And there it is_ ,' Lucius thought and smiled inwardly. ' _He applies the touch for a bribe almost like a Pure-blood._ ' "What is your proposition, Mr. Lockhart? I warn you, though, I am quite good at negotiating."

"Your reputation as a negotiator precedes you, Lucius." Gilderoy said. "You don't mind if I call you Lucius, do you Mr. Malfoy?"

The Pure-blood, secure in his knowledge that he was going to soon own the idiot, nodded easily. He planned to put the berk in his place, later, after his usefulness was complete — after his son had achieved high scores and finished the class. Once the dandy was out of Hogwarts, Malfoy intended to show the twit just _how_ dangerous it was to try to use _his_ son in an amateurish attempt to seek favour.

"Oh, thank you." Lockhart paused again, giving the image of one who is thinking deeply. "I say you donate a knut for the first ten points taken, double that to two knuts for the second ten points on to the two hundred points, with the final sum donated to my 'Dark Arts Defence Fund.' I will happily restore the points taken and give only a single detention to your son on proper wizarding conduct. Is that agreeable to you, Lucius?"

"Knuts! I can pay you in Galleons for what you have offered, Gilderoy," Lucius said with a smile.

"Oh, that's all right. In all good conscience, I cannot charge _more_ for such a simple mistake from a child of such a preeminent parent as yourself, Lucius. Besides, I value your friendship much more than galleons," Lockhart said with a smile and charming wink.

"Consider it done." Lucius said with a victorious smile and thinking, ' _As if I would ever consider such an obvious suck-up a friend. He probably engineered that whole scene yesterday just for this chance to meet with me and pretend to do me a favour!_ '

"Excellent! Let's shake hands on the deal, Lucius." Gilderoy waved his wand and a parchment appeared on his desk. He quickly jotted down the terms of their agreement.

.

 _"_ _In exchange for reversing ten points, one knut shall be removed from the House of Malfoy Vault to Gilderoy Lockhart's Vault for The Dark Arts Defence Fund, with the second ten points doubling that to two knuts, and so forth, on up to two hundred ninety points being reversed."_

.

He signed it and spun the parchment around for Malfoy's signature. Both allowed three blood drops to hit their respective signatures. Lockhart offered his hand to the pompous arse, knowing that when they shook hands, the spell on the parchment would be completed and a copy appear on a certain Goblin's desk at Gringotts. The Goblins would immediately begin transferring 544,493 Galleons fourteen sickles, and two knuts out of the Malfoy Vaults. If Lockhart had calculated properly, that should be almost sixty percent of the entire Malfoy family's net worth.

Like most rich people, his money was in real estate, so this would _easily_ wipe out his cash reserves. Plus, if there weren't sufficient funds in the Malfoy vault to pay the debt in galleons, and in absence of previous orders to the contrary, the Goblins would begin selling Malfoy properties until the sum _was_ paid in full. Gilderoy expected to get several valuable moneymaking properties. And that would cripple the Malfoys' ability to make a quick recovery.

They promptly shook hands and drank the finest Champagne Lockhart had to offer. Gilderoy made a show of handing the parchment to Malfoy without bothering to make a copy for himself. "I trust you implicitly," said Lockhart, "I don't need a copy for myself." He didn't explain that a day after the transfer completed both parchments would disintegrate into dust to remove any possibility of a parchment trail for an investigator to find.

The best part was that Malfoy could not complain about the transfer, the gold simply disappeared from his vault. There would be no evidence to explain what happened. As far as anyone ever would be able to determine later, money disappeared from Mr. Malfoy's vault, for due cause according to the Goblins _and_ approved by Mr. Malfoy — that was all the Goblins would say on the matter. That a large amount of gold appeared in Lockhart's vault at the same time was a coincidence. That several former Malfoy properties became Lockhart's was interesting, but Lockhart had clear bills of sale to show that Lockhart purchased those properties with funds from his vault. That those funds had been moved to his Vault as part of a previous transaction executed only moments before was not disclosed.

The same laws that allowed Malfoy to get away with bribing Wizengamot officials would hide and protect Gilderoy's transactions.

Both were immensely pleased with themselves.

Mr. Malfoy mistakenly believed he had the right measure of the popinjay and had managed to change his son's sticky situation with his classmates for a ridiculously small bribe. He had never purchased such influence for so little, and he had assured his son of excellent scores for the rest of the year.

Gilderoy was doing a little happy dance in his head, and suppressing the urge to do it in real life. He had just increased his vault's contents by a factor of at least a fifty. In one fell swoop, he had propelled himself into the rarefied atmosphere of the top one-tenth of a percent wealthiest Wizards in Britain — numbering less than ten Houses total. Lord Black was at the top with a net worth of two million galleons, and, until today, the Malfoys had been in the top three of that pack at about 800,000 galleons.

Oh, how he had decreased House Malfoy's wealth!

He had even reduced the Malfoy's ability to make money. Normally, when someone transfers an amount that exceeds the galleons in their vault, the Goblins begin selling off properties stating with the lowest-valued ones first. He had arranged with the Goblins that anytime anyone transferred _him_ gold and their vault had insufficient gold to complete the transfer, the Goblins would start selling the smallest _income-producing_ properties first and selling them to _him_. In essence, he was using his victim's gold to buy their properties, and then they gave him his gold back! All he did was pay a special purchase price fee of twenty-percent to the Goblins, again using the victim's gold. It was just as if the victim were giving the property to Gilderoy at no charge. And Gilderoy would get all the future income from that property, more than making up for the current loss of additional galleons in his vault.

After finishing their toasts to each other's health, Mr. Malfoy said, "I must be off, there is business I need to attend to this afternoon."

After Malfoy left, Lockhart removed the silencing, binding, and _glamour_ charms from Hermione, Harry, Ron, and Neville.

"You utter bastard! You sold yourself for bloody peanuts," Ron cursed. "You are so _cheap_ , selling yourself for bloody knuts," Ron raged. Harry Potter was looking at Gilderoy with daggers in his eyes. Neville and Hermione looked disappointed and confused.

"Remember the Legend of the Chessboard, Miss Granger?"

She frowned for a moment, then her eyes popped wide open and her mouth formed an "o" of astonished recognition. Poor Neville still looked puzzled. Harry frowned, having heard of the legend in primary math classes, but not remembering the details. As far as Harry/Gilderoy could remember, that particular cautionary math tale wasn't taught to Wizard children.

"Is the punishment sufficient, Miss Granger?" He beamed at them happily, confident in his solution. "It is not enough, don't you agree, that the younger generation learns some manners, but also the old. That should teach _both_ Malfoys a very valuable lesson, is that not right, Miss Granger?" Lockhart smiled, showing his dazzling smile to the shocked and blushing brunette.

"And, ten points and _another_ detention for cursing at a Professor, Mr. Weasley."

"I, I don't understand," Harry Potter said in wonder.

"Harry, can't you see, it?" Hermione said excitedly, "Mr Malfoy mistakenly believes he paid a small bribe when he actually spent a _huge_ amount of his money!" She turned back to the adult Wizard, "Professor Lockhart that was truly sneaky."

"Huge amount of knuts? So what! Bloody hell, Hermione, you are mad." Ron admonished.

"Two detentions, now, Mr. Weasley. For your detention, Mr Weasley, calculate the exact amount of knuts Mr. Malfoy lost today and convert that to galleons. Then I want two-feet on why you should never accept a contract on finances unless you understand _completely_ what you are signing and the particulars are described in excruciating detail."

To the others, he said, "I am sorry I had to put you under body bind, but I didn't want you to interrupt our little business deal."

"Two hundred ninety points, so he was punished twenty-nine times." Harry Potter replied.

"So Malfoy loses twice of twenty-nine, fifty-eight knuts for his behaviour, that's just two sickles! Peanuts! If that is so, he will bung it again and again, using his money to avoid punishments. This is _duff_!" Ron cried.

"Ron, shut up. It's not fifty-eight knuts, but . . . ," Hermione started to lecture her friends.

"Allow them to do their work, Miss Granger." Lockhart interrupted. "They should learn the value of keeping cool and working with a calm mind rather than letting their emotions dictate their actions." He stopped and sighed.

"Word spreads quickly in the Pure-blood circles and now they will remember to hold their tongues." Lockhart said. "One last thing, do _not_ tell anyone what transpired in here today." He stared at them, blank-faced. Neville and Harry gulped at the obvious threat. "If too many people hear of this too fast, you could _undo_ what I have done and _strengthen_ Draco Malfoy's position in Hogwarts. It is to _your_ benefit that we allow others to do our work for us. Miss Granger will be able to explain it to you, if you're smart enough to listen, that is." He turned his gaze on Ron for a moment before smiling broadly and tossing his hair with a slight movement. "If I hear anyone talking about this, I'll know where to find the culprits responsible for the tale, and you three will spend the rest of the year in detentions." Hermione nodded frantically at Gilderoy and gave a harsh look at Ron.

"Now that _that's_ sorted, I thank you for your kind comments about my class and I will do my best to bestow upon all of you as much of my vast experience as I can cram into the school year.

"If I see enough improvement in the next month, I might even start a Duelling Club where you can hone your practical skills! Wouldn't that just be delicious?" He chuckled happily, rubbing his hands together. "Duelling, where you can legitimately hex your worst enemy with your Professors' approval!"

Hermione and Harry stared at him a moment, wide-eyed. Then Harry smiled. Neville looked worried. And Ron? Well, Ron merely looked constipated.

The kids left his office quietly, but no sooner did they leave than Harry/Gilderoy heard Hermione start to explain just how _badly_ Gilderoy had shafted Malfoy.

(⊙_◎)

Gilderoy was wearing a lilac Wizarding outfit as if to a formal occasion. He stood out from the surroundings as only a true peacock can do. He knew that the neighbours were watching as he strolled down the street. Every time he saw a curtain waver he nodded, smiled broadly, and waved at the person peeping out, causing them to quickly drop the curtain and step back a moment before spying once more on the strangely dressed man.

Naturally, the Dursleys were too busy watching their favourite telly program to notice his approach until he knocked vigorously on the door.

"Little" Dudley opened the door. For an odd moment, Harry felt sad. _His_ Dursleys had perished, along with most of the citizens of Little Whinging when a nuke had landed not more than a kilometre away from this very spot. And now, here was the little turd, all fat and obnoxious. He almost wished he could drop another nuke here.

"Mom," the gormless bully called, "There's some weirdo here." There was an inarticulate squawk from inside and the sound of hurrying feet.

The horse-faced woman that appeared next surprised Harry. He didn't remember her being this different from his mother. It was difficult to square the horse-like face and beanpole shape of this woman with the pictures of his smiling kind-faced and very curvy mother. Did they even have the same father? Or the same mother? Could one or the other be adopted? He shook his head slightly. If he found out one or the other was adopted he would draw and quarter the Headmaster, slowly — very slowly. Blood protection, indeed!

Meanwhile, his aunt was staring at him in abject horror.

He gave her his best smile. "Good evening, Mrs. Dursley, may I come in?" He pushed on the door and stepped forward, preventing any other action from her.

She was about to try to slam it in his face anyway when he added, pleasantly, "We wouldn't want to cause a scene out here for all the neighbours to see, now would we?"

Her eyes flickered to the lighted windows of the houses across the street, where she could see nosey neighbours watching closely. She stepped back, hissing, "Well, hurry then."

He walked into the sitting room.

Mr. Dursley was already struggling to his feet, "Get out, you fre. . . ."

Gilderoy's wand was at the man's throat, "Finish that word and you'll spend the last moments of your life as a pig in a slaughter house that makes bangers."

The walrus sized man collapsed back into his favourite chair. Dudley was watching with wide eyes.

Aunt 'Tunia said, "Dudley, upstairs now!"

The little turd was fast, Harry had to give him that. He was partway up the stairs by the time Harry yelled, "No, everybody in here! Right now! Sit!" Years of shouting orders in combat gave him the voice of command that garnered instant obedience. Petunia and Dudley were on the couch almost before they realized they had moved.

"I'll make this short and sweet," said the Wizard. "Did it not occur to you that those 'freaks' you are afraid of might take _offense_ at your treatment of one of their own? That, maybe, _one_ of them might decide to return to you exactly what you did to the boy?"

"See here, now," blustered Vernon. Petunia, on the other hand, turned white as a sheet. Dudley, of course, looked confused.

"Shut it, walrus," said Harry. He twitched his wand and the man's mouth disappeared. Such a small and targeted spell would trip no alarms looking for splashy accidental magic or the messy efforts of a child's wand.

"So, this is what you're going to do. Starting immediately, you will treat the boy as your long lost love-child or Dudley here gets to reprise _every single blow_ he gave to Harry. And _you_ get to explain to Child Protective Services why _your_ 'duddykins' looks like you beat him half to death with a golf club." He added snidely, "I'm sure that saying 'it's the freak's fault' will convince a judge you're innocent." He glared at them.

"And shan't your neighbours just _love_ the scandal." Petunia turned even paler.

"You can start with Christmas presents. Drop them off with Mrs. Figg, she'll make sure they get delivered. She's not one of us, but she has a relative who is."

He smiled, much like a shark smiles at his next meal. Petunia shrank back.

"Well, now that that's sorted, I'll say goodbye." The smile disappeared. "And you had better hope you _never_ have reason to see me again." He walked to the door. "I'll see myself out, thank you." He flicked his wand and Vernon's mouth came back.


	7. Chapter 7 Murder by Bludger

**Chapter 7. Murder by Bludger**

Harry/Gilderoy really hated the Quidditch game that Saturday, but he dared not deviate from the course of events. The hardest part, the absolute hardest part, was to pretend to botch the healing spell on Harry's arm. He had established a measure of respect with the Golden quartet, and the rest of the students, and this pretty much scuppered it completely. Madam Pomfrey would _never_ forgive him.

Oh, well, he had the rest of the year to recover it in.

So it was that late that night in the Hospital Wing, seconds after the house-elf mentioned the Chamber of Secrets, Gilderoy acted. Wrapped in Harry's invisibility cloak — and hadn't _that_ been a beastly bitch to get! — surrounded with a silencing spell, a powerful _Notice-Me-Not_ spell, and a scent-suppressing spell, he had hidden under the boy's bed all night waiting. As soon as the words, ". . . now that the Chamber of Secrets is open once more . . . ," left Dobby's mouth, Gilderoy hit him with a _stupefy_ , with his wand almost touching the elf's foot, and then bound him.

As the elf collapsed to the floor, Gilderoy stood up on the other side of the bed, shoving the cloak into his pocket and silently _finiting_ the other spells on himself.

"Aha!" he cried aloud, "I knew something was wrong with that bludger! I knew there was a game afoot!" He adopted his 'Superman' stance, standing with hands on hips, his lavender cloak flung behind him, head held at just the right angle to impress onlookers.

Harry's head whipped around from staring at the bound elf on the floor to look at the Professor. He stared at Gilderoy, eyes wide in shock.

"Sorry, Harry," He looked at the boy sadly, "I really had no choice. If we wanted to find out who was trying to kill you I needed you isolated and apparently helpless. This way I could watch over and protect you, and catch your enemy _before_ he did more harm. As I just did."

Harry continued to stare at him, "You . . . you vanished my bones on _purpose_?!" The outrage was clear in his voice.

"Oh, come, come, Harry. This hurt _me_ far more than it did _you_!" Gilderoy rolled his eyes, smiling. "It's going to take me _weeks,_ if not _months,_ to repair the damage to my reputation! Even _after_ we explain what _really_ happened.

"You, on the other hand, will find your arm as good as new by morning and you'll have an exciting tale to tell your admiring fangirls, and, someday, your grandchildren." He gazed down on the boy wizard benevolently. Then he smiled sneakily and said, "You really need to improve your flirting skills. I think you should practice flirting with that pretty friend of yours, Miss. Granger. I know she shan't mind."

Harry stared at him, blinking, processing what he had heard. "What really happened? What really _happened_?" The boy was too shocked to speak coherently, at first. "What _really_ happened," he said furiously, "is that you deliberately vanished the bones in my _arm_!"

"Harry," the professor said, "I know what you're thinking, but, please, trust me on this. We have thwarted a plot by Draco Malfoy to kill you!"

Harry stared at him, mouth gaping open, "Kill me? _That_ prat?"

Gilderoy nodded, "Yes, yes, that's precisely what happened. You see, Dobby, here, is the Malfoy House-elf. And everyone knows that house-elves always do _exactly_ as they are ordered. So, if he cursed that bludger, he _had_ to do it because Mr. Draco Malfoy _ordered_ him to do it.

"That bludger was trying to splatter your brains all over the Quidditch Pitch yesterday. If not for your quick reflexes, it would have succeeded, too. Fortunately for you, the Weasley twins managed to corral it after it demolished your elbow and prevented it from ploughing your head into the ground while you were lying there helpless."

Harry stared at him speechlessly, eyes-wide in shock.

Lockhart nodded in satisfaction, "Yes, that's exactly it. Draco Malfoy wanted you eliminated so he easily could catch the snitch and the Slytherins could win the game. He couldn't just wound you, that's too easy to fix and you'd be right back in the game. It had to be something serious, so serious you'd be off the field immediately. So, he had his house-elf curse the bludger in an attempt to eliminate you permanently. In other words, to kill you. This was nothing less than an _attack_ on House Potter by House Malfoy!"

Harry finally closed his mouth and said, bewildered, "But that's not what he said, he said he was trying to protect me!"

"Harry, Harry, Harry," Gilderoy said condescendingly. "You don't understand. House-elves have to do _exactly_ as they are ordered. And Draco Malfoy, his master, told poor Dobby, here, to _kill_ you and then tell everyone he was trying to protect you, that it was all an accident! He _can't_ tell the truth when his master has ordered him to tell a _lie_! And it is _impossible_ for a house-elf to act independently." 'Unless they are insane,' he didn't add. "House-elves simply can't run off and do something unrelated to their normal house duties without direct orders. They just can't, they _have_ to have orders from their owner!"

Lockhart shook his head, "It would have been the perfect murder, too. You die in a tragic accident by a rogue bludger and Draco wins his first game to the accolades of everyone in Slytherin. And then the Slytherins win both the Quidditch Cup and the House Cup at the end of the year. And, incidentally, Draco then inherits the Potter fortune in addition to the Black fortune."

And that effectively derailed Harry Potter from everything. "Potter fortune?" he said loudly.

The D.A.D.A. professor looked at Harry, frowning slightly, "Why yes, Harry, you are Heir to the Potter fortune. Hasn't your magical guardian told you about your heritage? The Potters are an Ancient and Noble House in England. When you become an adult, you will take the reins of one of the ten wealthiest Houses in England. And you and Draco are third-cousins by your great-grandmother, Dorea Black. If you _die_ , then Draco inherits as the next closest relative. Unless you make out a will to the contrary, of course, which I suggest you do as soon as possible.

"Your vast riches are one reason Mr. Ronald Weasley is so jealous of you."

They heard, well, Gilderoy heard a commotion outside the Hospital Wing door. Harry was still too much in shock at hearing he was wealthy, and related to Draco, to notice anything farther away than his bed.

In the next moment, Dumbledore was backing into the dormitory, wearing a long woolly dressing gown and a nightcap. He was floating what looked like a statue. Professor McGonagall followed a second later. Harry and Gilderoy watched as the Headmaster deposited it onto a bed.

"I say," said Gilderoy, "What is all this, then?"

The Headmaster and Professor McGonagall turned quickly. They had been too involved with the statue to notice the other professor standing beside Harry Potter's bed.

"Get Madam Pomfrey," said Dumbledore, and Professor McGonagall hurried past the end of Harry's bed out of sight.

"Ah, Professor Lockhart. What a surprise to find you here." The old Wizard blinked, eyes twinkling, and then he sighed. "Another attack, I'm afraid," said Dumbledore, "I found him on the stairs."

Professor McGonagall swept back into view, closely followed by Madam Pomfrey, who was pulling a cardigan on over her nightdress.

Harry/Gilderoy sighed as well. He looked at Harry and saw his expression of horror as he realized it was Colin Creevey. Colin's eyes were wide and his hands were stuck up in front of him, holding his camera.

"Petrified?" whispered Madam Pomfrey.

"Yes," said Professor McGonagall. "But I shudder to think . . . if Albus hadn't been on the way downstairs for hot chocolate — who knows what might have —"

 _That was fishy_ , Gilderoy thought. Why would the Headmaster _walk_ to the kitchens through an icy-cold castle late at night for a hot chocolate when a simple request to a House-elf would have it in his hands in seconds? Did the Headmaster already know about the Basilisk and was tracking its movements through the castle? And therefore needed a reason to go rescue the latest victim? He knew that Dumbledore was a tricky old goat, but did he _really_ have that little regard for the safety of the students?

A moment later, they all stared at the smoking ruin that was the insides of Colin's camera, with Dumbledore ominously saying, "The question is not _who_. The question is, _how_ . . . ."

Now that _WAS_ fishy, it implied that he already knew who . . . .

Into the silence the Headmaster's question produced, Gilderoy said, "Well, that's all very fine and good, but we have a more serious problem over here." The D.A.D.A. Professor pointed to the stunned and bound house-elf on the floor. The three clustered around the petrified young Wizard jumped, startled. They had forgotten the other Wizard, so wrapped up were they in Dumbledore's drama-queen moment.

Madam Pomfrey said, "A house-elf?" looking back and forth between Lockhart and the elf.

Gilderoy was in his element, a captive audience with questions only he could answer. And no one could contradict him.

"Not just any house-elf," he corrected the witch, posing dramatically, "but the very one who cursed a bludger to kill Harry Potter!"

The others looked at him astonished.

"You see, I _knew_ something was wrong with that bludger. It followed _only_ Mr. Potter, it tried to hit _only_ Mr. Potter. Several times I saw Mr. Potter just barely elude a direct strike against his head at speeds guaranteed to kill, isn't that right, Mr. Potter? How many times did you hear the whistle of the wind as it narrowly missed your head, Mr. Potter? Three times? Four?"

"Four," whispered Harry.

"Aha! _Four times_ the bludger barely missed killing our little Wizard, here." He looked down at the trussed up house-elf. "And I heard this little bugger confess to Mr. Potter that he was the one who did it! Isn't that right, Mr. Potter?"

Harry nodded again.

"Surely, you must be mistaken," the Headmaster interjected, eyes twinkling. "Why would a Hogwarts' house-elf do anything of the sort?"

"Ah, but you see, my dear Albus, this house-elf is _not_ a Hogwarts house-elf!" Gilderoy declared gleefully, holding up a finger in triumph.

The Headmaster leaned closer and stared at the house-elf. "Ah, I see. None of the Hogwarts' house-elves would wear such a tatty attire."

The two witches were listening attentively.

"Furthermore, the house-elf admitted that _he_ was the reason why Mr. Weasley and Mr. Potter were unable to access Platform Nine-and-three-quarters at King's Cross Station. He _also_ confessed to stealing the boy's owl mail last summer!"

The two witches gasped. The Headmaster frowned in thought. A house-elf stealing mail? Unheard of!

"And it did all this at the instructions of its owner," Gilderoy concluded. "A clear case of attempted premeditated murder disguised as an 'accident.' If Mr. Potter were just a tad slower in dodging, we would be making funeral arrangements. We need the Aurors here as soon as possible to handle the house-elf's interrogation."

"I don't think we need to involve the Aurors in this, Professor Lockhart, . . ." said the Headmaster, projecting a concerned grandfatherly image.

Gilderoy interrupted, "Oh, yes, we most definitely _do_ need the Aurors here. I have _many_ talents," he paused momentarily to preen, "and I'm sure I could interrogate the house-elf and learn all his secrets, but this is now a _legal_ case, not a prank. We have an outside house-elf that has _invaded_ Hogwarts and attempted a murder. This is not a mere schoolboy prank. We _must_ call the Aurors!

"It must be handled delicately, though. I'm positive his owner ordered the house-elf to lie about why it did these things. That it will claim it did all these things _without_ its master's permission or orders." He looked at the others incredulously, "Can you imagine _any_ house-elf acting on its own, without orders of any kind? And doing something that its owner definitely would _not_ want it to do? Imagine the uproar if it was _proven_ that a house-elf had deliberately attacked or killed a Wizard of its own accord, and against its master's wishes!"

Professor McGonagall said softly, "A house-elf _cannot_ do anything it thinks its master might not want it to do. In the absence of general or express orders, it can only do things it _knows_ its master will approve of it doing — generally housekeeping chores."

The Headmaster again tried to downplay the situation. "I think we can handle this here at Hogwarts without needing the Aurors," he said, eyes twinkling.

"Headmaster," Gilderoy said grimly, "This is no longer just a school Quidditch prank. It is quite possibly an attack on a student by an adult from _outside_ this school! If that is the case, what will you do? Dock him _points_? Make him write lines with a Blood-quill? Send him out on a detention in the Forbidden Forest?

"This was a _murder_ attempt on the only surviving member of House Potter. It would _easily_ have succeeded were it not for the lad's exceptional flying skills. And the next _legal inheritor, or his family,_ orchestrated the attack! The perpetrator has a motive, he has the means, and at yesterday's game, he had the opportunity to do it. If you do nothing, he _will_ try again! And next time he might succeed." He paused a second to let them think about that. "If you do not call the Aurors, _I will."_ He declared posing again in his 'heroic' superman stance.

The Headmaster sighed, "Let us move to my office then," and he turned to leave the Hospital Wing.

"And _that_ is why we need to call the Aurors, Headmaster!" Gilderoy declared loudly. "You would have us remove the house-elf from the scene of the crime and perhaps destroy important evidence? Or worse, leave the house-elf here with Mr. Potter unable to defend himself and hope the house-elf doesn't wake and finish his master's orders? I will remain here and protect the crime scene while _you_ notify the Aurors. Perhaps you could use Madam Pomfrey's floo?" The Headmaster turned and looked at him, eyes not twinkling at all. The Headmaster was not happy with Lockhart ordering him around like a common Wizard.

Ten minutes later two Aurors walked out of Madam Pomfrey's office, with Pomfrey escorting them, into the brilliantly lit Hospital Wing. The only conscious patient was Harry, and everyone knew _he_ wasn't getting anymore sleep tonight.

The lead Wizard, a tall, powerfully built black-skinned man, introduced himself as they approached the small group by the beds. "Hello. I'm Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt, and this is Auror Gowain Robards." He nodded to the Head Healer, "Madam Pomfrey tells me you have a case of attempted murder?" He raised an eyebrow inquiringly.

"Perhaps," stated Dumbledore, "I believe it isn't nearly as serious as that, but Professor Lockhart," he turned slightly, lifting his hand dismissively to indicate the Wizard, "seems to think that this house-elf," he pointed at the still stupefied and bound elf, "attempted to kill Mr. Potter," he pointed vaguely at Harry.

"Oh, no," said Lockhart, "I don't _think_ that, I _know_ that. After all, the house-elf _confessed_ to trying to knock Mr. Potter off his broom while he was playing Quidditch yesterday, when the child was a hundred or more feet in the air. And the bludger he cursed was aiming at the boy's _head_! Even a glancing blow could have been fatal."

At first sceptical, the Aurors quickly realized the seriousness of the situation as Harry and Gilderoy filled them in on what happened during the Quidditch game. Professor McGonagall quickly corroborated their stories with her view from the Commentator's Booth, although she had only seen two of the near misses.

The D.A.D.A. Professor then offered his conclusions about the motives involved and that a substantial fortune was at stake. Then he gave his deductions about the house-elf's instructions from its owner, laying it on thickly that no house-elf could ever attempt anything as serious as murder without the orders of his master. As evidence that the owner had to have ordered the house-elf to lie about his motives, Lockhart told the Aurors about how the house-elf had closed the gateway to Platform Nine-and-three-quarters and stole Mr. Potter's owl mail.

"One of these actions could possibly be explained as the house-elf misunderstanding an order," Gilderoy explained, "but all three?" the Wizard shook his head. "Once is an accident, twice is a co-incidence, three times is malicious intent," he concluded.

"I notice you have avoided saying the name of the person you suspect is behind this house-elf's actions," said Shacklebolt.

Smiling broadly, as if he were introducing a celebrity to an audience, Gilderoy said, "Why, Draco Malfoy, of course."

The uproar was instantaneous. The Headmaster flatly refused to believe it, "Nonsense, that boy would never do something like that. Pranks maybe, attempted murder? Never!"

"Let's look at the facts, shall we?" Lockhart said reasonably. "This is the first game that Mr. Malfoy is the Slytherin Seeker. His father bought the team new top-of-the-line brooms _just_ to get the boy on the team. If he didn't get the snitch, not only does he disappoint his father but also the Slytherin Team will be upset with him for losing them the game. And after all the bragging he did about how he's so much better than Mr. Potter, well, you can see he has a lot on the line here, can't you? And Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Potter have been at loggerheads since they first met last year on the Hogwarts Express. Ask any student.

"First, Mr. Malfoy ordered the house-elf to prevent Mr. Potter from returning to Hogwarts by stealing his mail and preventing him from getting his Hogwarts letter with the Year's requirements. When that failed, he ordered the house-elf to prevent Mr. Potter from coming to Hogwarts, physically, by blocking the Platform entrance. When _that_ didn't work, Mr. Malfoy started to get desperate. He tried several times to get the Mr. Potter in trouble by provoking him into a fight, hoping to get him banned from the team, but that didn't work either. Finally, Mr. Malfoy ordered his house-elf to remove Mr. Potter from the game, and if it happened to be permanently, well so much the better."

Shacklebolt turned to Robards, "This is way above our paygrade, go get Madam Bones."

"She's not gonna appreciate a call at this time of the morning. . . ." said the other Auror.

"Well, unless you're volunteering to get in-between House Potter and House Malfoy . . . ?"

The other Auror sighed. "Not a chance," he muttered, and turned to Madam Pomfrey. "May I use your floo?"

She nodded and the two headed back to her office.

Shacklebolt stared at the D.A.D.A. Professor. "You realize this all hinges on this being the Malfoys' house-elf."

Gilderoy smiled confidently. "An easy solution. Bring the boy here and ask him if this is his house-elf. To confirm it have the boy order the house-elf to bring him something from his home with the family crest on it. Only a Malfoy house-elf could enter the Malfoy mansion and retrieve a belonging."

Shacklebolt harrumphed in reply. He stared at the bound house-elf impassively.

"I suppose," Lockhart said, frowning, "that the boy could be innocent, but in that case it means that Mr. Malfoy's _father_ was the one giving orders to the house-elf. The problem there, of course, is why the _father_ would involve himself with Mr. Potter. What possibly could the Wizard have against this boy? Unless it is to ensure that _his_ son inherits both House Potter and House Black. Worse crimes have been committed to lock in an inheritance, don't you know. And those two Houses added to the Malfoy House would make him the richest and most powerful Wizard in the world.

"Ah, before I forget, I am willing to submit my memories of the game and everything I heard in the Hospital tonight, just to make sure there are no mistakes made in what I heard or saw. I'm sure Mr. Potter is also willing to provide his memories."

The dark-skinned Auror nodded his understanding.

At Harry's wide-eyed, "Providing memories?" Gilderoy gave him a brief explanation of pensieves and how they make it possible for people to view other's memories of events. And eliminate many he-said, she-said arguments because others could see and hear _exactly_ what happened and who said what!

"Headmaster," Gilderoy said, smiling broadly, "because this involves a Slytherin, I think you should have Professor Snape observe the proceedings when Department of Magical Law Enforcement Head Madam Bones arrives, don't you?" He stared at the Wizard expectantly briefly.

"Professor Snape is the head of Slytherin House here at Hogwarts, and acts as _parentis in locus_ for his students," Lockhart said to the Auror. "It is only proper that he be here considering it concerns not only one of his students, but also the son of a good friend of his." He paused, cradling his right elbow in his left hand as he tapped his finger on his chin. "I think he's the boy's _godfather_ , actually." He straightened as if he had just thought of something. "In fact, being such a good friend of the family, he might be able to identify the house-elf for us!"

The Auror looked at the Headmaster inquiringly. The Headmaster said, eyes twinkling, "Yes, let's do that." He lifted his wand and a phoenix _patronus_ burst from his wand. Moments later, it winged out of the room.

It took the Dungeon Bat almost fifteen minutes to wake, dress, and cross the entirety of the Castle to the Hospital Wing. He swept in the door, robes billowing dramatically, like a giant bat in the night. "Headmaster," he said, eyes sweeping the people in the room and pausing momentarily on the Auror. "What has Mr. Potter done this time? Are you _finally_ going to expel the miscreant trouble-maker?"

The Auror looked incredulous at the unfounded accusation. He shook his head slightly and introduced himself, "I'm Auror Shacklebolt."

Snape stopped beside the Headmaster and stared at Harry and Gilderoy. Gilderoy smiled cheerily. "Ah, Professor Snape, ever the jokester!"

Everyone except the Auror stared at Gilderoy in disbelieving amazement. Professor Snape? Make jokes? Was the D.A.D.A. Professor mad?

With his audience suitably distracted from their bickering, the dandy moved to the end of Harry's bed and pointed. "Do you, perhaps, know this house-elf?"

Snape's eyes flickered down at the bound house-elf, and a frown appeared. "That is the Malfoy house-elf, Dobby." He had no reason to lie and he knew that to deny he recognized the house-elf would only cause problems when the truth came out later.

"Aha!" declared Gilderoy in self-satisfaction, "I _told_ you he was Malfoys'!"

"You are positive?" asked the Auror.

"As positive as I can be about the identity of any house-elf I've seen. Only Mr. Malfoy could tell us beyond the shadow of a doubt." He shot an accusatory glance at Gilderoy and Harry. He knew that somehow those two were the cause of this late-night crisis.

While they waited for Madam Bones to arrive, the Headmaster filled Snape in on the night's events. Gilderoy filled Harry in on how to make out a will, with the promise that he would take him to Gringotts over the Christmas hols to file it. And suggested having Hermione help him in making it in the meantime — there were books about the subject in the library, after all.

"Whatever you do, Harry, do _not_ make me a beneficiary," the blond dandy ordered earnestly. "I know how much you admire me, but I have sufficient funds to keep me happy.

"The purpose of a Will is to make sure that _your_ estate — money and property — stays _out_ of the hands of those you _dislike_ while ensuring it does go to those who _deserve_ it the most. And while you might not realize it yet, Miss Granger is your _most_ loyal friend and ally. You would be better served to leave the Potter holdings to Miss Granger. With her intelligence, she would use what you give her for the betterment of _all_ Wizards and Witches. Give only a small amount of a few thousand Galleons to each of the Weasley family — you know how they feel about charity.

"Think carefully about who has supported you both last year _and this year_."

"And you should definitely tell Miss Granger that she has your permission to use Hedwig to write to her parents. She is your friend and she has no way to communicate with her parents. It would make her ever so happy if you were to do that. And it would give Hedwig a sense of purpose instead of just hanging out in the owlery all the time being bored. Hmm? I'll add a spell to the owl so that any Muggle who sees him will only see a common bird like a pigeon or swallow, that way she shan't attract any attention in the Granger's neighbourhood." Harry nodded with a thoughtful expression on his face.

Finally, a tall, stern looking woman with a monocle exited Madam Pomfrey's office, followed by six other Aurors.

"Madam Bones," Gilderoy said as if greeting an old friend — Gilderoy had never met the woman! — "I am _delighted_ to see the Department of Magical Law Enforcement is _finally_ taking note Mr. Potter's trials and tribulations at Hogwarts." The woman looked at him, frowning. "This is the first time _this_ year someone has tried to kill him." At that declaration, Madam Bones' frown grew even deeper.

"Why last year," the Wizard continued blithely, "there were no fewer than three times that the D.A.D.A. professor, Quirinus Quirrell, tried to kill him, and the last one put him in Hospital here for several days." He grinned at her broadly. "This year, of course, I, Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defence League, and five-time winner of _Witch Weekly's_ Most-Charming-Smile Award, am Hogwarts' beloved Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor. I do my utmost to keep all students safe, thus things are not nearly so desperate for the boy." He posed proudly. "I knew I would have to be on my toes this year when at the Opening Feast Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley were purposely delayed. I knew there was a game afoot. Crime is common. Logic is rare. Therefore it is upon the logic that I dwell."

He leaned closer to the Witch, as if confiding a secret to a friend, "I knew the game was afoot and that it was merely a matter of time before there would be another blatant attempt on Mr. Potter's life. When Halloween passed with merely a threat on his life and no action, I knew it would be at the first Quidditch game, just as it happened _last year_." She wasn't stupid, she caught his reference and he knew she would wonder why no one had advised her department of a serious attempt on the life of an Heir of an Ancient and Noble House.

He straightened and beamed at her happily. "I'm not one to meddle in an official investigation, but if I were you I would ask Mr. Potter for his memories of fighting the Troll, the first Quidditch game, the attack in the Forbidden Forest, and his fatal encounter with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named during finals week last June!" Madam Bones' monocle fell out as she stared at him. He nodded knowingly. "And you might want to ask him about some of his more violent confrontations with Mr. Malfoy from last year as well, to give you a bit of background on Mr. Malfoy's unashamed antagonism towards Mr. Potter and his close friends, Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger. There is even a dragon involved!"

Gilderoy knew the Headmaster was not going to be happy with the memories Harry provided to the Madam Bones about his adventures the previous year. They would show neither the Headmaster nor the school in a good light. And when they finally noticed the petrified student and got that story? The D.A.D.A. Professor knew the Headmaster was going to be in a world of hurt.

"And," he added conspiratorially, "Just you wait, there are things going on this year that make last year look placid!" He smiled, "My next book is going to eclipse all my previous books, I promise you!" The Head Auror looked worried.

Then he shook his head, sadly. "Mr. Malfoy, Draco, that is, is going to profess his ignorance of the house-elf's activities, naturally. And the house-elf can only say what his master has told him to say, so we shan't get the truth from him, either. His Master has ordered him to say that the house-elf only wanted to warn Mr. Potter away, not kill him. The only solution, you know, is to have an inquiry in front of the entire Wizengamot, and give the child a dose of veritaserum.

"But his father will _never_ let that happen, and we both know it, don't we? What parent would in such a grave matter?" His normal smile was absent and he sincerely looked unhappy. "But based on the facts at hand, what can we do? If we do nothing, the child will be emboldened to try again, and next time I might not be close enough to Mr. Potter to foil the attempt." He sighed. "I hate to say it, but the only course I can see is for Mr. Draco Malfoy to either give a Wizard's Oath that he will not pursue his feud against Mr. Potter or have his father remove him from the school until both children are of age." He shook his head again, feigning sorry.

Over the next hour, different Aurors interviewed Harry and Gilderoy several times. Both stated, repeatedly, that they would be happy to provide memories of the events they witnessed.

Personally, Harry/Gilderoy was hoping that Draco would end up at Durmstrang, but his swindle earlier that week might have made that school a bit _too_ expensive for the Malfoys — while the Ministry paid the tuition at Hogwarts, the Ministry would not fund a student to a school in another country.

He would settle for an Oath that Malfoy would cease his hostilities towards Harry and his friends and stay out of any House disputes. They would have to word the oath carefully so that the two boys could interact in school classes, and play Quidditch, and just limit the Oath to prevent the boy from plotting to harm Harry either in person or via a second party. He mentioned as much to Madam Bones.

But Gilderoy would leave the particulars to the D.M.L.E., the Headmaster, and Malfoy. If the Headmaster managed to convince everyone that an Oath wasn't required, then Harry/Gilderoy would have to up the ante and get Draco removed from the school in disgrace.

They summoned Mr. Malfoy from his dorm, and, as Gilderoy had predicted, he admitted the house-elf was Dobby, from Malfoy Manor. However, he was adamant that he did not order Dobby to harm Harry. In fact he insisted he had never given any orders to the house-elf regarding Harry or any _other_ student at Hogwarts. Naturally, the Headmaster violated the boy's privacy by invading his mind, without coming out and actually saying he had, and declared the boy innocent.

Fortunately, Madam Bones refused to take the word of an old Wizard, no matter how venerable, in a case of what clearly was attempted murder and Line Theft. Especially when the Wizard couldn't provide any concrete evidence to back up his statement of innocence without disclosing that he had committed an Azkaban-worthy mind-crime.

Gilderoy almost — almost — felt sorry for the boy. For once, he truly was an innocent in the proceedings. When the Aurors finally left, almost nine in the morning, it was with the Slytherin boy, Professor Snape, and the Headmaster. Madam Bones had allowed Professor Snape to floo-call Mr. Malfoy to meet them at the ministry.

The D.A.D.A. professor watched Harry rush off to tell his friends the news about both Colin Creevey and Malfoy.

At dinner, the Headmaster still had not returned, so Gilderoy took it upon himself to tell the tale to the students, very dramatically, about Colin Creevey being petrified. And how he had spent the entire night with Mr. Potter, lying in wait to trap the culprit responsible for putting Harry in the Hospital Wing. That got Harry looks of pity from the boys and ones of envy from the girls. The students were astonished when he said that the culprit had returned _that night_ to gloat, and that he, Gilderoy Lockhart, had caught him and turned him over to the Aurors. He did not mention either Draco or the house-elf by name.

The Slytherin's were not the only students to notice Draco Malfoy's absence at their noonday meal.


	8. Chapter 8 Malfoy's Waterloo

**Chapter 8. Malfoy's Waterloo**

The Headmaster had returned with Draco not too long after dinner that same day. Gilderoy's alerts on the front gate and the Headmaster's Gargoyle had told him the boy was back. He had intercepted Professor Snape escorting the young Wizard to his dorms from the office.

"Ah, Professor Snape," Gilderoy had exclaimed jovially as he "accidentally" came across the two in the third floor corridor heading for the stairs. "I see you have returned." He struck a pose with arm on his hip holding his plum-coloured robes to the side dashingly.

Draco glowered at the floor silently while the Potions professor scowled heavily at the D.A.D.A. professor.

"I presume that Mr. Malfoy, here, will still be with us in classes this week?" he continued.

If looks could kill — and with certain creatures they can but fortunately for Lockhart Snape wasn't one of them — then Gilderoy's next major event would have been a funeral.

"Yes, Mr. Malfoy is still a student. He swore he had nothing to do with the bludger attack or the other two incidents. He has agreed to avoid _Mr. Potter_ ," he practically spit the name out, "and his troublemaker friends." He glared at Gilderoy. "The Headmaster will give them the details after tea tonight."

"I am relieved to hear that," Lockhart replied cheerfully, lying through his teeth. "What happened to the poor house-elf?"

"That . . . creature . . . was given clothes by Mr. Malfoy, senior," Snape ground out.

"Oh?" said Gilderoy calmly, "They didn't execute the house-elf?"

"The Headmaster successfully argued the creature was not at fault."

"Well, he _was_ only following orders he could not refuse," Gilderoy said consolingly. "Hopefully his new master will not have a vendetta against The-Boy-Who-Lived or any of his allies."

The Dungeon dweller snorted derisively and pushed his charge lightly to get the boy moving. "Excuse us," he said, still scowling as they walked past the other professor.

"By the way," Lockhart said, aggravating the Potions professor still more, "Now that we have a Wizard casualty, when will the Mandrake Restorative Potion be ready?"

Professor Snape stopped and sneered at him, "Surely your limited intelligence can comprehend that the Mandrakes will not be mature until late May at the earliest. To give a date for the potion's preparation is premature."

"Oh, that's right," the foppish professor said as if he had forgotten. Then he continued in a very condescending tone, "I keep forgetting that others are not as _well-travelled_ or _world-educated_ as myself." He smiled patronizingly, preening slightly, letting the others know he was indeed superior to them, "South Africa has the opposite climate as England. What we harvest as mature in late May, _they_ harvest as mature in late November. There are even greenhouses where they grow mandrakes to mature every _month_. With my extensive world-spanning connections, I can have freshly mature Mandrakes here by December First at the latest."

Then he frowned at Professor Snape. "It would unconscionable to make Mr. Creevey lose almost his entire first year because the school refused to spend a few galleons to cure him this term, wouldn't it? After all, if he misses the entire year because the school chose to pinch knuts, the Ministry would have to fund his tuition for an extra year, which is considerably more than a few mandrakes. Not to mention how _reprehensible_ it would be to force him to lose all his friends and start over as a First Year next year. The alternative would be to pay for tutors all summer so he can attend Second Year, which would be far more expensive than a few mandrakes."

The Dungeon Bat looked furious at the insinuation that Lockhart was better than he was. He stared at the other professor for a moment, struggling to control his urge to hex him. "Indeed," he finally forced himself to say. Draco was staring at Gilderoy as well. Clearly neither had considered the world outside their cosy corner. Scowling, Professor Snape turned and led Draco down the corridor, leaving the disgustingly cheerful dandy behind them.

(◎_◎)

It was late afternoon and Gilderoy was sitting in his office grading papers. Harry was with his friends in the Gryffindor Common Room rehashing what had happened that morning in the Hospital Wing, and the fact that Draco was back from the Ministry and hiding in the Slytherin Dungeons. They hadn't yet touched on Wills, or the fact that the Potters were rich, but there was plenty of time for both those topics in the coming weeks.

His door alarm went off and he looked up to see Lucius Malfoy walking up. _About time_ , he thought. He had expected the Wizard to be here much sooner.

Gilderoy opened the door as soon as the other man knocked. "Lucius!" he said ingratiatingly, acting surprised, "What a pleasant surprise!"

The Wizard gave him an ugly look, shoved his way inside, and then turned to face the dapper professor. "Get out!" he ordered, "You're fired!" He thrust a scroll at the professor. Lockhart pretended to be surprised as he took the scroll and unrolled it. "I just came from a Board of Governors meeting," continued Malfoy senior, "and you've been sacked!"

"Um huh," said the professor as he scanned the document, "Uh huh, interesting, uh huh." He looked up at the irate Wizard and smiled. "I'm sure I don't understand what this is about, but in any case, this," he waved the scroll negligently, "is meaningless."

"What!"

Gilderoy walked over and tossed the scroll on his desk. "Yes," he said, still smiling pleasantly, "The Board of Governors is an advisory group to Hogwarts. According to their charter, they have no control over what actually happens. They can't hire anyone. They can't fire anyone. They have no control over how departments spend their money. All they can do is issue directives to the Headmaster on what they _think_ he should do. He is free to ignore them at his will. The only one they _can_ fire is the Headmaster himself, and then _only_ for due cause, such as gross negligence, financial mismanagement, or endangering the students' welfare." That last condition, considering the Philosopher's Stone last year, should have had the old goat out on the streets already.

Malfoy stared at him, furious at being thwarted, furious that this professor had accused his son of a serious crime, furious that this popinjay had bested him.

"The charter also says that if the Governors have any questions about a staff member's conduct, they can request that he or she attend a meeting where they can discuss the matter with him or her. Now then, if the Governors feel I am a liability to the staff, they can recommend the Headmaster remove me. If they do so, I will not oppose them. I am free this evening, if you wish to call the Governors together." There now, the noose was set, and the rope made available. Would Lucius be stupid enough to hang himself?

The head of the Malfoy clan bared his teeth ferociously, "Yes, I think I shall." He turned and stormed out of the room.

Gilderoy smiled broadly.

(◎_⊙)

At tea that evening, as Lockhart watched Draco Malfoy studiously ignore Harry Potter's little group, a lone owl winged its way to him at the Headmaster's table. The Board of Governor's meeting was set for seven in the Hogwarts' Boardroom.

Just as he was finishing his second treacle-tart, the Headmaster leaned over to Professor McGonagall, "Minerva, my dear, would you please ask Mr. Potter to come to my office after tea tonight. You will need to accompany him." The cat animagus nodded genially, "Of course, Albus." The old Wizard then stood and made his way to the side door, and thence to his office.

Harry/Gilderoy hurried to his office. He seated himself comfortably at his desk chair, cast a silencing charm around himself, and then on himself. Into the profound silence that produced came the sounds of Harry and Professor McGonagall walking. He set a parchment on the desk and readied his quill. A minute later he heard, "Dum-Dums" and the sound of stone grinding on stone as the gargoyle moved. The escalator staircase was mostly quiet. Moments later came the Headmaster's voice, "Enter."

"Harry, my boy, I hope you've had a good day?"

He heard a familiar snort. Naturally, Snape was there with McGonagall and Harry.

"Yes, Sir." He heard the creak of leather as Harry sat in one of the office chairs.

"And your arm is in tip-top shape?"

"Yes, sir, but Madam Pomfrey told me to treat it easily for the next week until the bone is back at full strength."

"Good, my boy, good. Would you like a lemon drop?"

There was a long silence. The old goat was trying to soften the boy up by making him nervous. Silently stare at Harry until he started to fidget. Once the boy is fidgeting, he's less likely to think about his answers.

Gilderoy had discussed negotiating tactics during a detention with Harry, with special emphasis on those used by Dumbledore and Snape. After explaining the techniques favoured by both in condescending tones, he had said, smiling broadly, "Watch them closely, they do so love their little mind games."

The Headmaster sighed dramatically, and Harry/Gilderoy could picture him sitting forward and placing his elbows on the desk with one hand wrapped over the other.

"I had a long talk with Mr. Malfoy and Draco. Both deny having _anything_ to do with their house-elf attacking you or stealing your mail. The actions of this Dobby were a complete surprise to them both."

"Professor Lockhart said house-elves can't do anything without the permission of their owner," said Harry. "Neville told me the same thing. If that's so, then how did Dobby do those things?"

"We don't know. But both Mr. Malfoy and Draco swore oaths on their magic that they did not tell Dobby to take your owl mail, nor to stop you from getting on the Hogwarts Express, nor to curse the bludger to attack you. And they both can still do magic."

Silence as the boy thought that over. "Is that all?"

"Isn't it enough, Potter?" came Snape's sneering voice.

"No, it isn't," said the Headmaster, gently. Harry/Gilderoy could imagine the sidelong look that the Headmaster gave Snape. "Draco Malfoy also gave an oath to neither insult or start any fights with you."

"What about Hermione, Neville, Luna, and Ron?"

Gilderoy was happy to hear Harry immediately catch the loophole for Hermione, Luna, and Neville, not so much for Ron.

"They are included, as well."

"Why aren't they here?"

"I'm sure you will tell them what they need to know, of course."

Bastard. All three students should be in there, not just Harry.

"What about the other Slytherins? What's to prevent him from ordering one of them to do his dirty work for him?"

"Potter!" came Snape's voice, again. Apparently, the Headmaster stopped him with a look from saying more.

"Mr. Malfoy is prohibited from using his influence in Slytherin House to have others accost you or your friends."

Another silence, then, "Thank you, sir."

"Just a word or warning, this only applies to Hogwarts during the school year," the Headmaster said sternly.

More silence.

"Well, I think your friends are wondering what you're up to, so you should probably hurry back to your dorm and bring them up to date."

There were the sounds of chairs scraping. "Good bye, sir."

"Good bye, Harry."

Gilderoy waited until he knew Professor McGonagall and Harry had left the office before cancelling the silencing spells on himself. He reviewed all his notes and sighed. There was still so much to do.

He pulled up a fresh parchment. He needed to make an appointment with Rita Skeeter. She should love some of the dirt he had on Malfoy senior. With her doing the pushing, it shouldn't take too long to get Malfoy kicked off the Wizenmaggots for behaviour unbecoming a Wizard of that body — although he wasn't sure how anything a member did might be considered unbecoming behaviour for _that_ body.

(⊙_◎)

Gilderoy stopped just outside the door to the Governors' Boardroom on the third floor and made sure everything was set — his perfectly tailored mauve robes with matching vest and pants, his hair just so, his shoes shining flawlessly. Appearance was vitally important on a first introduction. After all, as he had told Harry many times, _Proper Preparation Prevents Piss Poor Performance!_

Hiring Dobby had been truly gratifying. He was Gilderoy's first house-elf, and the Wizard was amazed at how his fortunes were changing and growing. For Harry, it was wonderful to see Dobby once more alive, and as hyperactive as ever! The little guy had cried with happiness when told his job was to look out for Harry Potter and spying on Harry's enemies.

It was show time. He took a deep breath and slowly let it out, knocked smartly on the door and stepped inside, his robes billowing artistically behind him, his gorgeous smile distracting his opponents, his foppish manners making his enemies underestimate him.

He smiled confidently as his gaze swept the room.

The corner room normally gave a magnificent view of the lake and Quidditch Pitch, but tonight was moonless and the dark windows ate the candles' light ominously. There were thirteen members on the Hogwarts Board of Governors, and Lucius was currently the Head of the Board. He glared at Gilderoy while the others looked at the Professor with varying degrees of interest and curiosity.

"Good evening, Wizards and Witches! As you no doubt know, I am Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defence League, five-time winner of _Witch Weekly's_ Most-Charming-Smile Award, and Hogwarts' beloved Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor. It is with great pleasure that I received your invitation to this meeting. What can I do to solve your problem?" He stopped at the foot of the table, looking across at Mr. Malfoy seated at the head.

Mr. Malfoy launched directly into the matter after a sweeping look across the other Board members. "As I told you all earlier today, this Professor, Gilderoy Lockhart, is entirely unsuited to teach at this prestigious school. He is only interested in increasing the gold in his pockets by selling books. You only have to look at how he has made _all_ seven years of D.A.D.A. students buy _all_ his published works. How can the same books be of use to all seven years of students? I call for a vote to have the Headmaster remove him!"

Lockhart pretended to be startled, "My goodness, Lucius, I thought we were friends! Why, we had tea together just Thursday and you seemed quite _happy_ with my performance as a Professor then. _Whatever_ could have happened to bring about such a drastic change?"

"You do not have my permission to use my first name, Mr. Lockhart," he said frostily.

"Oh, come, come, Lucius. You were quite pleased to grant me that permission earlier this week. Have you forgotten that as well?" He paused a moment staring at the other Wizard.

"No, I haven't forgotten! I take it back! You accused my son of trying to kill Harry Potter!" Lucius was barely in control of himself.

"Ah," said Gilderoy, " _I understand_. You're referring to how your house-elf attempted to murder Mr. Potter, aren't you?"

Malfoy stared at him murderously, "I have no idea what that idiot creature was up to, nor does my son know." The other Board members were watching with surprised and shocked expressions.

"But Lucius, that house-elf — Dobby, I believe his name is — freely admitted that he cursed that bludger to try to hit the boy in the head. The house-elf claims he was trying to save Mr. Potter by injuring him. Clearly, the poor creature is not right in the head."

"He certainly is _not_ right in the head! I have _no_ idea why he was after Harry Potter."

Lockhart stared at the angry Wizard. "I think that might be what's really at issue here."

"WHAT!"

"Have you explained how Hogwarts' most famous student," said Gilderoy, "Mr. Harry Potter, sole Heir of the Ancient and Noble House Potter, was almost killed by a rogue bludger yesterday? That I spent the night guarding him in the Hospital Wing and caught the one responsible for cursing the bludger to chase him? It was I, the world-renowned adventurer, Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defence League, five-time winner of _Witch Weekly's_ Most-Charming-Smile Award, and Hogwarts' beloved Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor who turned the miscreant over to the Aurors!

"That it _didn't_ kill Mr. Potter during the game yesterday was due only to the boy's _exceptional_ flying skills. No fewer than _four_ times did it barely miss smashing his head to _paste_! But Dobby was _your_ house-elf! How can you say you don't know what the creature was doing? House-elves _cannot_ do _anything_ without permission, we all _know_ that!"

He ploughed on, over the sputtering objections of the other Wizard.

"So we are left with only three possibilities. One, you ordered Dobby to kill Mr. Potter and then told Dobby to lie about it. Two, your son gave those orders, either at your behest or by himself. Or, three, the house-elf is insane."

Malfoy was in a towering rage, his face red and his hands trembling. "How _dare_ you!" he said softly.

"The first two possibilities you categorically deny, but they still need to be stated lest we overlook something!" Gilderoy said in a condescending tone, as if stating an obvious and simple fact.

"By Merlin, YES, I DO DENY!" shouted the Wizard.

"Which means that you had in your possession for months, if not years, an insane house-elf, and you _never noticed?_ "

Malfoy stared at him his fingers twitching towards his wand.

"How could you _not_ notice your house-elf was insane? You are the Lord of your House! You should have noticed! It is your _job_ to notice." The professor paused and posed dramatically, making a fist with his index finger extended and touching his temple. "Unless you couldn't," he said carefully. He dropped his hand to his side.

"I remember reading that you were an unwilling accomplice to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, eleven years ago."

Malfoy was confused at the change of subject, but still enraged. "I was _imperiused_ , you dandified fool," he said vehemently.

"I also heard that you were _crucioed_ several times by Him as punishments for attempting to disobey Him."

Glaring, the other Wizard merely nodded angrily.

"And brutally _legilimened_."

Another angry nod.

"Well, it's well known fact that too much exposure to the _imperious_ , and you said you were under it almost monthly over a period of several years, can lead to mental problems later on in life. Things like being unable to tell reality from fantasy."

Malfoy's eyes began to bulge and his face turned even redder. He definitely was trembling. His colour reminded Harry of Vernon just before he exploded into violence.

"And the _crucio_ , you testified he _crucioed_ you many times for trying to disobey. And a side effect of _crucio_ is difficulty in keeping one's temper, and allowing one's emotions to over-rule their reason.

"And unless a _legilimens_ is performed with extreme care permanent damage to one's psyche can result. And you said _HE_ wasn't one to care about his followers.

" _REDUCTO_ ," screamed Malfoy leaping to his feet, his wand appearing in his hand almost instantly.

As fast as Malfoy was, Harry/Gilderoy was faster — and he had been expecting such an action. Even as he dodged to the side, he said loudly, " _Expelliarmus-stupefy-incarcerous!"_ so fast they sounded like one word. The other Wizard was unwanded, unconscious, and bound in ropes before he even realized his wand was leaving his hand. Gilderoy magically caught the Wizard before he could fall to the floor and eased him onto his chair, instead. He applied a light _ennervate_ so the Wizard would wake in ten or so minutes.

The Wizards and Witches around the table barely had time to realize Malfoy had attacked the Professor and the duel was over.

Lockhart, dropped Malfoy's wand on the table and put his left hand on his hip. "Well. That was unexpected. Good thing I'm the best dueller in the country or he might have tagged me." He waved his wand negligently over his shoulder saying, " _reparo_." The _reducto_ damaged wall fixed itself. "After all, I'm not the Professor of Hogwart's Defense Against the Dark Arts class because of my smile!" he said displaying his gleaming smile.

He glanced around the table at the stunned witnesses. "You all saw that, he attacked me without warning. And while some might view the things I said as a provocation, he _is_ the Lord of an Ancient and Noble House and _should_ have much better control over himself than that. In fact, I'm sure many of you have seen him receive _worse_ provocations and _shrug_ them off. And I wasn't even accusing him of those things, merely pointing out facts that we all know are true about exposure to those Unforgivables."

He sighed. "I feared this might happen when I met with him earlier this week. He seemed edgy, irritable, and changed moods quite quickly. And in August, he actually got into a _physical_ fistfight with Mr. Weasley in Flourish and Blotts Bookstore. Can you imagine? The Lord of an Ancient and Noble House fighting with his hands in the street, rolling around and swinging his fists like a common Muggle thug instead of using his wand as should a proper Wizard!" He shook his head sadly.

"All those _imperios,_ _crucios,_ and _legilimens_ have finally caught up with Mr. Malfoy." He looked back at the others around the table. "As you can see, his desire to have me sacked has nothing to do with my qualifications and all to do with his inability to control his temper amid perceived slights to his family and House. Such a great man to have fallen so far." He shook his head sadly.

Lockhart motioned with his wand and an unoccupied chair slid across the room to the table. He sat, wearily. "My actions late last night were taken in consideration of the safety of _all_ students, not _just_ Mr. Potter. I knew we had someone trying to kill our most famous student — and if he succeeded, he wouldn't stop there. Why should he? If he got away with killing a _famous_ person, why would anyone care if he kills a _nobody_ , he would reason." He leaned back in the chair. "He would next start attacking Muggleborn and poorly connected Half-bloods. Eventually he would attack those Pure-bloods he considered as blood-traitors, just as his former Master did, reasoning that it was for the Greater Good to do so.

"The house-elf is insane because Mr. Malfoy is himself not entirely sane anymore." Several people around the table made noises of disbelief.

He smiled, tiredly, "We all know that house-elves take their magic from their masters. If the master is not entirely sane, then neither is the house-elf, for one is _completely_ dependent on the other.

"I'm sure that neither Mr. Malfoy nor his son, Draco, gave any kind of _direct_ orders to Dobby, their house-elf, regarding Mr. Harry Potter. Unfortunately, house-elves get the _intent_ of their masters through their magic. It's how they know when their master wants them, and in most cases can anticipate their orders depending on what their master is doing. Those of you with house-elves know what I mean — how many times have you called your house-elf for tea, only to have him or her hand it to you already prepared?"

Several of the older Witches nodded in acknowledgement.

"In this case, the damage done to Mr. Malfoy's mind by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was never properly corrected by the skilled Mind Healers at St. Mungos. I imagine he felt too embarrassed at admitting he needed the help of Mind Healers, and just tried to ignore it. Unfortunately, if you fail to fix the _physical_ damage from such attacks, the physical mind slowly deteriorates until suddenly the victim begins acting in a bizarre manner, making wild accusations and claims, and acting out their base impulses instead of acting as rational Wizards."

He sighed. "For example, I do not doubt that later this week he will start to accuse me of robbing him, of _swindling_ him, if he hasn't started already. That I was supposed to take a bribe to reverse some points lost by his son in the House Points system. Never mind that such bribery is against school regulations and for a Governor to act in such a manner is _clearly_ an abuse of his position. And he will claim that I somehow tricked him, instead, and stole _hundreds of thousands_ of galleons from him."

Several members protested that statement, saying that surely he must be exaggerating.

Gilderoy shook his head, "Just wait, it _will_ happen. And remember, his house-elf would have his point of view. Why Mr. Malfoy would want to attack Mr. Potter I can't say for sure. Perhaps he wanted to strike out at his dead Dark Lord for hurting him so much, and Mr. Potter, being associated with the fall of the Dark Lord, became a convenient target — guilty by association. Maybe he was upset at how often Mr. Potter has upstaged and humiliated his son.

"At home in private he raged at the unfairness of it all. And in his unstable mind, he played with the idea of revenge on Mr. Potter. Daydreamed, perhaps, about how he would kill the boy if only he had a chance. Dobby picked that up and acted on it, much as a normal house-elf brings you your tea almost before you ask." He looked up and met their eyes. "No one will ever know for sure.

"In the meantime, out of respect for what Mr. Malfoy has done for Wizarding society over the last ten years, we should keep quiet about what happened in here tonight." Most of the Board members seemed willing to do that, by their expressions. He smiled sadly. "I'm not one to meddle on another's business, but based on Mr. Malfoy's clearly unstable actions today, I would suggest you remove him from the Hogwarts Board of Governors before his erratic actions can have a negative effect on Hogwarts and, by extension, yourselves. Just look at how he has forced you to have two meetings in one day for what is _clearly_ an illogical personal vendetta."

Lockhart rose to his feet. "Thank you _so_ much for allowing me to participate in this meeting. It has been most educational." He bowed and headed to the door, where he stopped and turned to face them. "Oh, by the way, I do have a suggestion for a replacement for Mr. Malfoy — Madam Dowager Longbottom. Her son is here in his second year and I think she would be a good fit for the Board."

He carefully closed the door behind him. He grinned happily; no one had noticed the anger hex he had hit Mr. Malfoy with when he first entered, nor the silent fourth spell, a mild cheering charm, in the stream he had sent at Mr. Malfoy. The Wizard would wake up in just a few minutes, well before the meeting finished. He would not be angry, as everyone would expect, but calm and a little bit pleased with himself. It would wear off in a short amount of time, and the rage would return almost as severe as before. It would be a big 'mood swing' to back up Gilderoy's argument that the Wizard was unstable.

(⊙_⊙)

Monday's dinner appointment with Rita went about as well as Gilderoy expected.

"Rita, my dear," he greeted her expansively, and swept her and her photographer into the private dining room he had rented at The Three Broomsticks. He made sure his teeth sparkled in the light. He had researched her habits and the meal provided was a fancy Sunday Roast (prepared by Dobby).

Rita took one look at the table and turned a jaundiced eye on Lockhart.

"All right, Gilderoy, what's the deal? You wouldn't waste money on a meal like this unless it was something big."

The Professor grinned. He and Rita knew each other, and both considered the other a con artist.

"Rita, you wound me!"

"Uh, huh. And?"

"Sit, sit, we can talk while we eat."

She sat and pulled out her Quik-quotes pen and a parchment.

"Uh uh, Rita. You shan't need that one. This story is juicy enough you shan't have any _need_ to embellish it."

She raised an eyebrow in doubt, but exchanged the Quik-quotes quill for a standard dictation quill.

"Here it is in a nutshell. House Malfoy is going downhill. Fast."

She sat back in her chair and studied him. "What do you have?" she asked flatly.

He gave her the rundown on what had happened Saturday and Sunday morning, concluding, "And here are copies of the memories to back it all up." With a flourish, he began placing a half-a-dozen memory vials on the table. She watched with wide eyes.

The memories were carefully edited versions of the events of Saturday and Sunday, including the Board of Governors meeting. He also included _his_ memories of Dobby stealing his mail and admitting closing Platform Nine-and-three-quarters. They did _not_ contain some of the things he had explained to Harry.

She stared at the vials hungrily.

"I presume _The Daily Prophet_ has a pensieve," he stated.

"Oh, yes," she breathed softly.

She looked up into his eyes.

"There are several things to note in these. First, one thing I did not mention is that Mr. Draco Malfoy and Mr. Ron Weasley appear to have a love/hate relationship. They are always getting into scraps with each other. Although both deny it, they seem to derive satisfaction from their interactions and seem to seek each other out to pursue them. Don't take my word for it, though, ask some of the students. Perhaps Mr. Malfoy sees Mr. Potter as a rival for Mr. Weasley's attentions and sought to remove him from the romantic field, as it were.

"Second, watch Harry's reactions to some of the things mentioned. They do not jibe with what we've been told about him. I wouldn't mention them yet just take note of them.

"By the way, I don't know if you know this, but it is impossible to be _imperiused_ into taking the Dark Mark. You have to _want_ the Mark. Any hesitation and it _shan't_ take. Just as threatening a family member as blackmail won't work. So Mr. Malfoy and the other Death Eaters have been lying through their teeth.

"Perhaps you can get an interview with one of the Azkaban prisoners and give him veritaserum. It shouldn't be that hard. You should be able to get one of them to agree by simply saying they were _imperiused_ and just don't want to admit they are ashamed of what they did for the Dark Lord. You're smart, you can figure an angle that will work.

"Ask how they get the Dark Mark and what they had to do to get it. I guarantee it will turn your stomach."

He started eating and giving her time to mull over what he had told her.

She asked a few more questions, which he readily answered.

At the end of the luncheon, as they were about to leave, he said, "Rita, you do a good job on Mr. Malfoy, if you can get him stripped of most of his influence in the Ministry, I'll guarantee a one-on-one interview with Mr. Potter. If you can get him censured and bounced from the Wizengamot, or, as I like to call it, the Wizenmaggots, I'll make sure his girlfriend is included. No Quik-quotes quills, though!"

"Potter _and_ _his girlfriend_?" Harry/Gilderoy could see the greed in her eyes at the stories she could do with that!

"Well, I don't think _they_ realize they're an item yet, but it's obvious to everyone _else_." He looked her in the eyes, "Rita, play nice with Harry and you'll have a steady supply of block-buster stories for years. I guarantee it. And, you'll be able to publish the definitive Harry Potter biography. With authorized photos."

She stared back, and then nodded.

On that note, they left The Three Broomsticks and went their separate ways.

(◎_⊙)

That evening, as Harry Potter was preparing for bed, a parchment and a glass of something appeared on the desk beside his bed.

.

 _Mr. Potter,_

 _._

 _While you were in the Hospital Wing, I noticed that you are suffering from malnutrition, due, not doubt, to the neglect of your relatives. For the next several months, every night before you go to bed, a potion will appear on your work desk. Drink it ALL. Sometimes it will be vitamins and nutrients, other times it will be healing potions to correct the damage done to your body. No one except you will shall notice the glass. It is up to you if you wish to disclose this to any of your friends. If you do, I suggest you start with Miss Granger._

 _._

 _Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defence League, five-time winner of Witch Weekly's Most-Charming-Smile Award, and your beloved Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor._

.

Harry sighed heavily and dropped the note to his bed, then jumped slightly as it fell to dust before it hit the bedspread, and then disappeared. He drank the potion. Like most potions, it tasted terrible.


	9. Chapter 9 Slytherin's Heir

**Chapter 9. Slytherin's Heir**

Tuesday morning's _The Daily Prophet_ made Harry/Gilderoy smile while bringing exclamations of dismay from a certain Slytherin student. Before breakfast was over, the entire school knew that Draco Malfoy's house-elf had cursed the bludger into chasing and trying to kill Harry in order to win the game. And that the great adventurer Gilderoy had captured the errant elf, who had confessed to the crime. There was even a side article asking if perhaps Draco Malfoy and Ron Weasley were soon to be an item.

Neither Ron nor Draco were pleased to see that speculation in print. Professor Snape seemed a bit put out about the story, as well. Dumbledore just twinkled his eyes.

The evening edition continued the bludger story as it had played out in the Ministry, with both junior and senior Malfoy proclaiming their innocence yet being unable to explain how their house-elf managed to do so _many_ things without their orders. The article called into question the veracity of their Oaths — and explored how they might have been able to order the house-elf without explicitly giving an order. The house-elf might have responded to the Malfoys' vaguely expressed desires and intent without actually getting a direct order, the paper concluded.

That Mr. Malfoy had failed to quash the stories was a testament to how severely Harry/Gilderoy had hurt the Wizard financially.

Gilderoy found out just how badly he had damaged House Malfoy when an owl from Gringotts arrived that evening with a list of properties he now owned, all producing a good income. It seemed that House Malfoy had a much lower on-hand galleon reserve than he had assumed — it must be all those bribes Malfoy paid for his pro-Pure-blood agenda. This made him smile even more. With all the available gold now in Gilderoy's vaults, if Malfoy wanted Galleons for something, — say, making a bribe or three — he had to wait for his income producing properties to make their monthly deposits. But that presupposed that his current income exceeded his current bills. Considering the lifestyle the Malfoys' enjoyed, that was not a guarantee. And the properties Gilderoy now owned decreased that income capability, making it that much more difficult for Malfoy.

Malfoy _could_ demand immediate repayment of loans he had made to others as a businessman, but that would reveal his financial situation, weaken him politically, and turn "friends" into enemies. It would also cascade through the Death Eaters as his debtors called in debts from others. Honest people and businesses who had made the mistake of borrowing from Malfoy would suffer. But the Goblins, for a price, had promised to tell Gilderoy of those with such difficulties and give him the opportunity to help if he could. That would mitigate the crisis a bit, as well as increasing Lockhart's political pull.

Borrowing from anyone but the Goblins would also reveal Malfoy's vulnerable position.

Gringotts would loan you money, but the rates were exorbitant even if you had property to put up for collateral. Naturally, the Goblins kept any income from those properties until you repaid the debt, which made it that much more difficult to do so. If you didn't have collateral, the rates ran to almost fifty percent of the loan amount. Unpopular distasteful clients, the ones who made no secret of their dislike for Goblins, would find the rates for either type of loan to be considerably higher.

In all cases, Malfoy was no longer a major player in the Ministry. He had been number three in the top ten richest Wizarding families. With this one stroke, Lockhart had knocked House Malfoy out of the top one-hundred, while moving himself into the tenth position.

Gilderoy gleefully sent an owl to Rita hinting that Malfoy might be having financial difficulties, and wouldn't _that_ make a juicy story about how far the mighty have fallen. Plus, hinting that if Malfoy had mismanaged the ultra-rich House of Malfoy that badly, perhaps those rumours of his mental instability had a basis in fact.

Wednesday's headlines were all about how the Hogwarts' Board of Governors had reluctantly removed Mr. Malfoy because of his "unstable" mood swings. It included copious quotes from the other Board members about how appalled they were of late at his questionable actions and obvious bias. No mention was made of any one thing in particular but the impression was that the bludger event was just the latest difficulty in which Mr. Malfoy had found himself. Ah, yes, the wolves were circling wounded prey.

Thursday morning, the story on how one gets a Dark Mark broke. Several people in the Ministry _did_ point out that this information came from _convicted_ Death Eaters and that you couldn't really rely on _them_ to tell the truth. Of course, others pointed out that only the most powerful of Wizards or Witches could lie under veritaserum — and none of the prisoners came close to having that power, especially after a ten-year stay in Azkaban with Dementors as their hosts!

Rita managed to get Madam Bones to agree that the next time they caught someone who had the Dark Mark breaking the law they would use veritaserum to determine the truth about the Mark. In the meantime, the tide of public opinion viciously turned on Malfoy and several other "rehabilitated" known marked Death Eaters.

Rita, meanwhile, was getting front-page headlines in both morning and evening editions of _The Daily Prophet_ , a unique and highly profitable situation for her. It was all the better in that what she wrote was the truth and none could complain she had exaggerated and used salacious slander to sell her stories.

Later that same day, in D.A.D.A., Gilderoy decided to examine the whole thing about the Heir of Slytherin in the waning minutes of class.

"I've heard some students discussing just who the Heir of Slytherin could be and that only the Heir of Slytherin can control the monster." He paced across the classroom. "Let's get this sorted, shall we?" He faced the class and pointed his finger at the ceiling. "First, Slytherin is a _Dark_ Family. So, whomever it is must be from a Dark family, right?"

Most of the class slowly nodded agreement.

" _However_ , with all the cousin marriages in the Pure-blood world every Pure- and Half-blood in this Castle is related to Slytherin somewhere in their family tree." Several Slytherins nodded agreement at that conclusion. "So, _not_ being in Dark House isn't a decisive condition disqualifying anyone from being the Heir, is it?"

Nodding heads, again. Harry looked puzzled, clearly not seeing where this was going.

"Unfortunately, which family has the best claim on being the Heir is almost impossible to determine. The last person to claim to be the Heir of Slytherin was Voldewhore — and we all know what happened to him." Most of the class gasped or hissed at the name. "His mother was from the Gaunt family and they claimed to be the only surviving _direct_ descendants of Lord Slytherin — on the distaff side. However, all the Gaunts are now dead. So, again, familial connections are indecisive at best.

"On the other hand, _Mr. Potter_ did vanquish Voldewhore, the last person who claimed to be the Heir of Slytherin." Several of the Slytherin students were frowning at his use of Voldewhore instead of Voldemort. "The first time Mr. Potter bested him in battle, it was defending himself when he was a mere toddler at 15 months old. How, no one knows. Maybe it was something his mother or father, or both, did. Doesn't matter, Harry Potter, last Heir of House Potter, defeated the self-proclaimed last Heir of Slytherin in _Fair Combat_ , combat initiated by the other Wizard. Doesn't _that_ mean Mr. Potter is now the Heir to Slytherin, _By Right of Conquest?_ " Most of the class looked startled at that conclusion. "And for those who don't know, _By Right of Conquest_ is a _penalty_ to prevent powerful Wizards and Witches from taking over weaker Family Lines simply by killing the Lords and heirs. You can _only_ inherit a line _By Right of Conquest_ if you are defending yourself from an attack and the attacker you kill is the last Lord or Heir of his or her House.

"Well, Voldewhore did attack him without provocation, but he became a wraith. Is that sufficiently dead to qualify for _Right of Conquest_? Possibly." Gilderoy stopped, as if in thought. "It _is_ somewhat confusing, isn't it?

"However, last year, Mr. Potter _once again_ vanquished Voldewhore! And this time it was quite clear-cut. The Dark Wanker tried three times last year to kill Mr. Potter, and failed all three times — once during a Quidditch match, once in the Forbidden Forest, and finally under the castle during finals." The class was making noises now, especially from the Slytherin side. "Oh, come on!" "That's not possible!" "You're making that up!" "Give me a break!" A few objected to the names he used to describe Voldemort. "LIAR!" "How dare you!"

"SILENCE," the professor roared.

"Whether you believe me or _not_ isn't at issue. Mr. Potter can _prove_ he's telling the truth with his memories. But we're getting off the subject. At the end of last year, he once more vanquished the Dark Wanker. That means he has vanquished the Wizard in Fair Combat in self-defence, _twice_!

"By my understanding of the ancient laws, no other _possible_ cousin Heirs can beat that claim. And even if you dispute my claim that he fought him again last year, you can't deny he _vanquished_ him _eleven_ years ago."

The class looked stunned at the train of thought. Gilderoy preened as they stared at him. "Didn't anyone think of that? I thought of it the moment I heard Mr. Potter had arrived at Hogwarts' last year. I thought to myself, 'Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defence League, and five-time winner of _Witch Weekly's_ Most-Charming-Smile Award, there he is, the boy who defeated the Heir of Slytherin. Shouldn't that make _him_ the Heir of Slytherin?'"

"If it's true that he defeated the Heir of Slytherin in Fair Combat, then Mr. Potter is, _decisively_ , the Heir of Slytherin!" He paused and looked over the class, beaming happily at his logic and ignoring the horrified expressions Harry and Hermione now wore.

"In which case, the Heir of Slytherin is now a Light House, shining in the Darkness, wouldn't you all agree?" He chuckled at his pun. "In other words, if you are a Dark House and you win control of a Light House, By Right of Conquest, that doesn't automatically make you a Light House, now does it? And the converse is also true. If you are a Light House and win a Dark House by Right of Conquest, you are still a Light House!"

Most of the class was nodding agreement.

"Hm? Got that firmly in mind? Don't forget it!" Gilderoy admonished as he resumed pacing dramatically in front of the class.

"Second, to _control_ Slytherin's Monster you have to _command_ it. So if Slytherin's monster really _is_ a snake, being the Heir of Slytherin is useless if you can't control the monster. Thus, even if Mr. Potter is the Heir of Slytherin, By Right of Conquest, it means nothing if he can't get the monster to listen to him, right?"

Again, most of the class was nodding agreement.

"So, the question is, Mr. Potter, _are_ you a Parselmouth? Can you speak Parseltongue?"

Harry stared at him wide-eyed.

"Don't know, eh? Easy way to find out," Gilderoy waved his wand, saying " _Serpensortia_." A small snake flew from his wand. Gilderoy suspended it in the air and studied it as it hissed. "My, but you're a pretty one, aren't you? Angry, too." He would have to pretend he could not talk with snakes. Now that he was older, he realized it would be quite useful.

The whole class, except Harry, leaned back in their chairs, staring at the snake. Harry was staring at the snake in fascinated horror.

"Well, Mr. Potter, what does this beautiful specimen have to say?"

Harry looked at the professor, eyes wide in shock.

"Come, come, now, Mr. Potter, I can tell you understood him. Tell us what the snake _said_!"

Harry wilted under Gilderoy's stare. He couldn't bring himself to lie; he could tell that Gilderoy knew, just by the look he was giving Harry, that Harry had understood the snake. Harry swallowed nervously.

"Er, Umm," he stammered, "He said, 'Who calls me? Put me back or I'll bite you!'"

"Ah!" Gilderoy looked disappointed at the threat, "Tell him I'm sorry I disturbed him and I'll return him forthwith."

Harry gulped and then hissed at the snake. The snake hissed back.

When all the hissing ceased, Gilderoy banished the snake back to wherever he had come from.

The entire class was staring at Harry. Those closest were inching away, even Neville. Harry was sinking into his chair.

"All right, then," the Professor said merrily, "Harry speaks Parseltongue, _just_ as Merlin the Great did."

Half the class jolted from staring at Harry to staring at their professor.

"And in the Indian subcontinent and Southeast Asia, Parselmouths are quite admired and sought-after — all those poisonous snakes, don't you know. Plus, for some reason Parseltongue makes spells more effective. Those few physicians who are parselmouths are highly sought after and head the most famous hospitals in India and southeast Asia.

"As I mention in my book _Year with the Yeti,_ I briefly stayed in Calcutta. While there I hired a parselmouth to clear a cobra nest out of my garden . Could have done it myself, of course, but I didn't want to traumatize the little fellows with magic. Besides, the snake charmer knew of a place that needed the snakes to help clear up a rodent problem. Quite useful, being a Parselmouth. I wish I could speak Parseltongue."

The class didn't know whether to be terrified of knowing a Parselmouth, or envious.

"So, if you want to declare Mr. Potter a Dark Wizard for being a Parselmouth, then you must also condemn Merlin, and a vast number of Indians, for the same failing." He gave the class a scathing look. "I hope you are more intelligent than _that_. It is a Wizard's _actions_ that determine whether he is Dark, Grey, or Light. From what I hear of Mr. Potter's reputation at Hogwarts, he is definitely not Dark — he _did_ save a Witch he barely knew from a Troll, did he not?" He again swept the class with a glance, stopping to look at Hermione.

He turned his attention back to Harry. "Tell me, Mr. Potter, have you been hearing any hissing around the Castle?"

He shook his head. "I don't hear hissing, Sir; it just sounds like English to me."

"Ah! Then have you heard any mysterious voices around the Castle lately? Voices that said things like, oh, I don't know, things like," he paused a moment, then growled, "'Come, . . . come to me. I'm so hungry. . . I smell _blood_!'"

Startled at how close the Professor had come to what he had heard, Harry could only reluctantly nod.

"Excellent! Did you hear that class? Another _clue_ as to the identity of Slytherin's Monster! Mr. Potter has been hearing a _snake_ in the Castle. Any thoughts on the mysterious monster stalking our school?" About a third of the class raised their hands including Miss Granger.

Oh, he had to hear what she had come up with, "Miss Granger!"

She stood beside her desk and recited:

.

 _"_ _Laid by rooster and hatched by a toad,_

 _To the Basilisk terror is owed._

 _Crumbling rocks with its breath,_

 _It stares victims to death,_

 _And by cock-crow alone, is it slowed."_

.

"Excellent, Miss Granger! Five points. Anything else you have to add?"

"Yes, sir. The Basilisk _kills_ with a look, it doesn't just _petrify_ its victims." Several other students nodded in agreement.

"Good, good. Well that _is_ a conundrum, isn't it? But maybe we have a semantic problem there. The petrification spell used by Wizards merely immobilizes its target, petrification as alluded to the Basilisk and Medusa turn their victims to _stone_ and kills them! Could there possibly be a special circumstance in which the snake petrifies its victim as Wizards do _instead_ of killing the victim? A good question, don't you agree?

"So, we need a bit more research, don't we, before we can conclusively exclude the Basilisk." He smiled broadly at the class. "Were there any special conditions that might have protected the Basilisk's victims from dying while still leaving them petrified?" He swept the class again with a glance noting the frustration evident in the smarter members. "Merlin, I love being me!" he sighed happily.

"To summarize," he stopped with one hand on his hip, his robes artfully pressed back as he held up his other hand, index finger pointed up beside his head. "Primus, Mr. Potter _could_ be the Heir of Slytherin by descent, as could any _other_ Half- or Pure-blood student or adult in the Castle.

"Secondus, Mr. Potter _is probably_ the Heir by Right of Conquest, but that does not make him a _Dark_ Wizard, any more than Lucius Malfoy inheriting House Potter would make him a paragon of a Light Wizard." A squawk came from Draco's direction.

"Tertius, Mr. Potter can also _speak_ Parseltongue and control the monster, which _also_ doesn't mean he's a Dark Wizard, unless you wish to call _Merlin_ and all those Indian snake charmers, who help people by removing venomous snakes, Dark Wizards as well."

"Quartus, being a Parselmouth is _hereditary_ , you can't be taught or learn Parseltongue. Therefore, Harry is either directly descended from Slytherin, or from another Wizard who was _also_ a Parselmouth.

Hermione had her hand raised again. Gilderoy arched an eyebrow, but finally nodded.

"Professor, you said Harry," she glanced at Harry nervously, worried that she was upsetting him. " _is_ the Heir of Slytherin earlier, but just now you said he is _probably_ the Heir of Slytherin. Which is it?"

"An excellent question! Two points." He swept the room with a glance. "I _think_ he is the Heir of Slytherin, based on my knowledge and logic. However, only a Goblin Inheritance Test can _decisively_ determine if I am right, therefore, I say he only is _probably_ the Heir. Logic, my dears, logic, much better than random guessing."

He saw several students nodding in agreement.

Gilderoy gave the boy a jovial grin, proud of his conclusions. "So, it isn't looking good for you, Mr. Potter, is it?" Gilderoy said cheerfully. Harry looked as if he were trying to sink into the floor, his face a solid red in embarrassment, glaring angrily at Lockhart.

"However, regarding the message 'enemies of the Heir beware' and how Muggle-borns will be driven from the castle — _and this is crucial_ — Mr. Potter's _mother_ was a _Muggle-born_! Why would _he_ want to keep Muggle-borns out of Hogwarts? It would be rather hypocritical of him, wouldn't it? He wouldn't even _be_ here if his Muggle-born mother hadn't been allowed in to meet his Pure-blood father."

He turned his attention to the Slytherin half of the classroom. "Tell me, Mr. Malfoy," he said, still beaming, "Would you accept being the Heir of Slytherin if it meant you had to either _kill_ your mother, or _exile_ her to live alone with the _muggles_?" The Slytherins sat back in their chairs while Mr. Malfoy went pale.

"So, even if Mr. Potter _is_ the Heir of Slytherin and _could_ control the monster, that does not mean he is behind the message _or_ the attacks! You cannot conclude he is responsible until you can explain why he would want to chase his girlfriend _out_ of Hogwarts!" There were a few startled squeaks from girls at the thought the Muggle-born girl might actually _be_ his girlfriend. "And, as he himself is a Half-blood, siding with the Pure-bloods on their agenda against Half-bloods and Muggle-born would also be hypocritical, wouldn't it? So you have to explain that as well."

He stopped and looked across the class. "Homework! Explain the reasons why a Half-blood such as Mr. Potter would _never_ agree to work for laws that discriminate against his or her self! One foot, with a one-sentence conclusion on what you would do if you were a half-blood faced with such a choice. For extra-credit, _reasonable_ explanations for why a Half-blood _would_ work to pass laws that discriminated against his or her self, with a second conclusion on if those reasons would be enough to alter your original conclusion.

"Class dismissed."

There would be some very interesting owl messages sent home this week.

(⊙_◎)

A week and a half had passed and Rita was no longer getting front-page headlines at _The Daily Prophet._ Mr. Malfoy had taken quite a beating.

When he had attempted to use the Wizengamot to attack the popular blonde-haired Wizard, he had discovered that _only_ the votes he _bought_ would back him in what was clearly a personal vendetta.

Then the Wizengamot had censured and kicked him out. It was okay to be a Death Eater in private, and several members _were_ slightly barmy, but his public outbursts and rage at the famous and popular Lockhart, coupled with rumours of grave financial setbacks amid incompetence, and his baseless accusations against those he saw as his enemies, were attracting the wrong sort of public attention. Ah, yes, the sharks were not above exaggerating to their fellows in order to bring down a foe.

Lockhart had picked up a few more properties from Malfoy as Malfoy vainly attempted to bribe his fellow members into staying on the Wizengamot. The Malfoy's were now merely an upper-middle-class family. But that wouldn't last at the rate they were burning through their funds. Gilderoy had already bailed out several 'Light' businesses hurt by Malfoy's demand for debt repayment. The more shady 'Dark' businesses he had allowed to fail, removing financial support to various Death Eater families. And the ill-will those failures had generated towards House Malfoy made Harry smile to think on. If they had to scramble to survive, they didn't have time for extra-curricular activities that hurt their fellow Wizards and Witches.

(◎_◎)

"I'm sure you're wondering why you and Miss Granger have a detention with me tonight instead of Professor Snape, right Mr. Potter?" They were in his office and it was shortly after tea. They both nodded. "Well," he said as if confiding in a close friend, "I'm sure you've noticed how _The Daily Prophet_ headlines are no longer focusing on Mr. Malfoy's woes, right?" He smiled winningly at them as they nodded again. Harry had a self-satisfied smirk at Draco's difficulties in Slytherin. He was no longer the Prince of Slytherin House.

"I think it's time you started, Mr. Potter, to correct the errors and lies about your life!"

He noticed both students began to look alarmed.

"Harry, Harry, Harry," he said disparagingly, "I've told you _many_ times before that you must _seize_ your destiny and embrace it. You must _accept_ that the public is thirsty for stories about _you_ , and if you _don't_ give them stories, someone else will _make up_ stories about you and the public will take them as _truth_ , to your great regret."

He switched his attention to Hermione. "Miss Granger, you've seen how the press acts towards celebrities in the Muggle world, haven't you?"

She nodded reluctantly.

"And you've seen that when a celebrity doesn't talk to the press, they make up stories, right?"

Again she nodded.

"So, Miss Granger, what should a smart celebrity do? Take your time."

After a minute she said, "If the newspapers can get stories direct from the celebrity, they print those instead of making things up. A smart celebrity would make sure that he or she talks with the reporters regularly so they always get _accurate_ stories and aren't likely to make up new ones in a bid for readership."

"You see, Harry," said Gilderoy happily, "I'm not _just_ an egotistical braggart. I always make sure to tell the reporters what I'm doing in order to _protect_ myself from rumours and innuendo. Some may say that I go too far, but unless you are constantly doing something new, the press lose interest in you. And I _need_ press to sell my books."

He paused. This wasn't quite going where he wanted.

"Harry, I know you _hate_ attention, but you _are_ The-Boy-Who-Lived. For ten years, nobody knew where you were or what you were doing. And people want to know what kind of life their saviour leads. There is _tremendous_ pressure on the press to answer those questions. The more you try to avoid it, the more secretive you appear. And the more secretive you appear, the more the press will hound you, trying to get answers to those questions. And as you get older, it will only get worse. You're almost a teenager, so the questions are going to be, what do you like to do? Who are your friends? Are you a git? Are you a hero? What girls do you like? Is there a special girl? Who is she?" The wizard turned to Hermione, "You can tell him how the press has hounded Prince Charles, Andrew, Edward, and Princess Anne."

"Um, yeah, they _are_ pretty relentless."

"Exactly," cried Gilderoy in triumph. "And the way the Royals keep rumours and speculation to a minimum is with regular press updates, right?"

Hermione nodded ruefully.

"So, Harry, with my help _you_ are going to start managing the press."

He stood, "Come with me, children," he headed for the door. "And I will teach you the ins and outs of manipulating the press into printing the stories you want while burying the stories you don't!"

He led them out of the Castle towards Hogsmeade. The Headmaster was at the Ministry, dealing with that idiot Fudge panicking over the loss of his "good friend" and private financier, Malfoy.

"Just as I promised, Harry, Hermione, this is Rita Skeeter," Lockhart said as he ushered the two students into the private room at The Three Broomsticks. He looked over, smiling his trademark smile at the Witch. The woman was staring at Harry as if he were a Christmas Roast prepared exclusively for her consumption.

"Woah, Rita," he said disarmingly. "Tone it down a little."

Hermione was definitely looking alarmed while Harry looked sullen.

The Witch blinked and looked down at the table. "Right," she said.

"Now, then," Gilderoy said as he guided the two Gryffindors to their chairs, "Let me start off with a few bits of information that Mr. Potter here is a bit too shy to come out and say frankly." He grinned at Rita. "I, Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defence League, five-time winner of _Witch Weekly's_ Most-Charming-Smile Award, and Hogwarts' beloved Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor, though, have no such qualms.

"You, of course, know Harry Potter . . . ."

Rita gave the boy a patently false smile, "How do you do, Mr. Potter."

"Hullo."

Gilderoy said, "Harry, where are your _manners_? You know better."

Harry sighed and then looked up at the older Witch, "It's nice to meet you, Miss Rita Skeeter."

"You must excuse Harry's abrupt manner, Rita," Gilderoy said aside to the Witch, "He was never taught _proper_ Wizard manners."

Rita's eyes widened slightly at that declaration.

Gilderoy pretended not to notice, "And this is Mr. Potter's _very_ good friend, Hermione Granger." He added, "She's a Muggle-born and clearly the smartest girl in her year at Hogwarts."

Hermione blushed as she curtsied and said hello.

"She's with us today because I think she will find this an invaluable learning experience." He paused a second. "And before you ask, she is _not_ his girlfriend," he said with an obvious exaggerated wink. "At least, not yet," he added with a chuckle. "Perhaps someday, right, children?"

"Professor!" exclaimed Hermione, scandalized. Harry sank lower in his chair. Both were blushing almost scarlet.

Harry/Gilderoy laughed. "Aren't they cute together?" he stage-whispered to Rita.

That got an even louder, "Professor!" from Hermione. If anything, the two were blushing more. He was sure even their toes were blushing.

He rubbed his hands together. He was having such fun.

"Now then, Rita, I have to set out some rules. Harry is quite shy about his life with the Muggles, and he isn't ready to discuss _any_ details of how they treated him. What I can tell you is that they are his relatives, and no we shan't tell you their names. Their safety lies in their anonymity. And they must remain anonymous because there _are_ people who would attack them." Let her assume those were enemies of Harry and not people outraged at his treatment by the Dursleys.

Both Harry and Hermione were staring at him.

"And yes, people would attack them. Why, in fact, there have been no less than three attempts on Mr. Potter's life last year alone! And that was at Hogwarts. Imagine what they would do next summer if they knew the identity of his magicless Muggle relatives, and that Harry was prohibited from doing protective magic by the Trace?! Not that he would have the knowledge or skill to stand up against fully-grown Death Eaters for more than a few seconds, at most."

Rita was sitting with her arms on the table, leaning forward, eyes narrowed in concentration. Her eyebrows shot up at that revelation.

"So, I thought that the way we would do this is for Harry, here, to tell you what he thought when he first saw Diagon Alley last year for the very first time ever and his experiences there. Then move on to the Hogwarts Express and the Sorting Feast. Then you could ask questions. Then, if we have time, Harry could tell you how his first time on a broom got him on the Gryffindor Quidditch team and about his very _first_ Halloween at Hogwarts.

"Hermione, here, met Harry on the train and she can give you her impressions on first meeting the famous Boy-Who-Lived and some of the other things she saw him do.

"How does that sound?"

Two hours and several cups of tea later, Harry began describing the Halloween feast and the Troll. Both Harry and Hermione were somewhat hoarse an hour after that. Hermione greatly expanded Harry's short description of the battle: "We knocked the troll out."

Rita had a nice stack of parchments rolls by this time. "Amazing," she whispered.

"Yes, isn't it?" Gilderoy said. "Well, I think we are done for the night. We need to head back, curfew is coming quick, don't you know?

"Oh, by the way, here are some official photographs of Harry and Hermione you can use in your stories." He dropped a small bundle on the table. "Both separate and together. Be sure to give _proper_ photographer credit to Colin Creevey, as well as a photographer's fee for each photograph used in the paper."

He ushered the two children out the door, but turned at the last minute to hand her a bottle filled with a silvery fluid. "I think you'll find this most informative, Rita. It corroborates everything they told you about the Troll," he said in a low voice. "You might want to downplay Mr. Weasley's role, he's a bit of a slob and an idiot." Then louder. "I'm not one to tell another how to do their business, but I imagine that you could make those notes last for several days, maybe a week, with a teaser about the Troll at the end of each to build suspense. Oh, and you might want to ask Madam Bones what she knows about a Troll loose _inside_ Hogwarts' protective enchantments, and what the Headmaster told her and the other parents of the incident."

Harry/Gilderoy smiled happily, those stories would be like kicking old Dumbledore in the family jewels.

(◎_⊙)

Rita's articles helped _The Daily Prophet_ set sales records. At first, Harry got hassled by the Slytherins, and especially Draco, about the articles and being an "attention-whore," as one Slytherin put it. Harry used the lines given to him by Gilderoy, "You're just _jealous_ because _nobody_ cares what you do" and "I'm just trying to put the truth out to combat the lies that have been told." They worked surprisingly well. And watching Ron's reaction to the first quote — he turned as red as his hair every time he heard it — was quite entertaining. Each time drove another nail into the coffin of their friendship. It was only Harry's good nature and loyalty that so far had prevented its burial.

Harry still directed quite a few death glares at Gilderoy for the unwanted attention, but the Wizard knew it would pass. On the other hand, Ron was practically frothing at the mouth like a mad dog at the attention Harry received. The fact that Rita mentioned his name, even if it was in a slightly derogatory manner, was not salve enough to sooth his wounded pride and raging jealousy. After all, the articles quoted Harry and Hermione extensively while he appeared as a hapless spectator to Harry's adventures. It was a sharp contrast to his previous boasting to his family and other classmates where he took centre stage and Harry was the lackey.

Gilderoy took great delight in how Rita started and ended every article with his name, describing how solicitous he was of the famous boy, and how the articles would never have happened without his helpful intercession.

It was Harry describing the Sorting Feast, and that _Malfoy_ was the reason he ended up in Gryffindor instead of Slytherin, that the excrement hit the revolving propeller for Draco. Almost as one, Slytherin House turned on Draco for ruining their chance to get the Boy-Who-Lived — especially now after the Malfoys' fall from power and there was no fear of retaliation from Malfoy's father. Ron, for once, was the object of much praise and thanks for helping Harry to choose Gryffindor. It did little to assuage his massive amounts of envy and jealousy.

The reaction when the story about the Troll hit, though, was outstanding, from Gilderoy's point-of-view. The included pictures of Harry climbing the Troll with Ron in the background throwing debris shut up many people. It's hard to call someone a coward when you just saw him climbing a fully-grown Mountain Troll to defend a girl he barely knew.

Girls from all Houses began throwing speculative looks Harry's way. Hermione, Gilderoy was pleased to see, never let the Wizard out of her sight and acted a bit possessive when the other Witches tried to separate them. And while some girls taunted Hermione with how she did nothing to defend herself, they always shut up when someone else pointed out that that meant Harry saved her!

And Ron scowled at the downplaying of his role in fighting a Troll. Harry/Gilderoy overheard the twins saying that their parents were equally displeased with that story, though for different reasons. The Headmaster hadn't told them the whole story and that failure disturbed them and shook their trust in the venerable old Wizard.

And Gilderoy's order of a Goblin knife, holster, and a tiny half-ounce vial of Basilisk venom finally arrived. It was a steal at only five and a half thousand galleons — the venom was seventeen galleons a _drop_! It took only a moment for the knife blade to absorb all but a dozen drops from the vial — what doesn't destroy a Goblin blade makes it stronger. Or, in this case, makes it poisonous in the extreme.

(⊙_◎)

Albus Dumbledore stared at the various copies of _The Daily Prophet_ on his desk. He had just returned from a scathing meeting at the Ministry with the Head of the D.M.L.E., Madam Bones. The Department had been investigating the incident, and many others, on the sly after their interview with Harry the day after his Quidditch match. The articles in _The Daily Prophet_ had just pushed the Troll incident to the forefront.

She had raked the old Wizard over the coals for his actions regarding the Troll incident. Yes, it had happened on Hogwarts' grounds, but the near death of three students, one a _Pure-blood_ , made the matter a D.M.L.E. concern — especially with many members of the Wizengamot demanding answers from _her_. And his previous explanation that a Troll had managed to get quite close to the Castle and not that the Troll was _in_ the Castle did much to damage his relationship with the Ministry and Aurors. His supporters were unhappy at the revelation but the Wizengamot members who favoured the Dark Arts were incensed at what they termed "his blatant lies."

She had demanded a full report on how the Troll had managed to access the castle, as well as what measures he had put in place to prevent it from EVER happening again.

Dumbledore was left wondering how Gilderoy had managed to get that insufferable Witch Rita an interview with Harry and Miss Granger? When had he done it? This was the third time in as many months that the prancing fraud had managed to surprise him with competency! He was going to have to keep a closer watch on the Wizard.


	10. Chapter 10 Family and Friends

**Chapter 10. Family and Friends**

"Ah, Mr. Weasley!" Gilderoy stood beside his table in the Ministry cafeteria as the other Wizard approached. "So, _good_ of you to agree to meet with me," he continued. "I am, as you know, Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defence League, five-time winner of _Witch Weekly's_ Most-Charming-Smile Award, and Hogwarts' most beloved Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor."

Arthur shook his hand and returned his beaming smile with a small one of his own.

"I know you are a busy man, Arthur. May I call you Arthur?" The wizard nodded agreeably. "Oh, good, thank you for that honour. Call me Gilderoy." They settled back in their chairs. "I hope you don't mind, but I ordered dinner for both of us. It's humble fair, I know, but filling, nonetheless, right?" Actually, it was the most expensive meal on the menu, with a small bottle of wine for drink. A rich dessert was included.

He waved his wand and the noise level around them dropped significantly. Walden Macnair, seated at the next table, seemed relieved as the privacy enchantment went up. "There now, no eavesdroppers," he said happily. "I asked to meet you to talk about your children. I don't _normally_ do things like this, who am I to tell another how to raise their children? After all, I _am_ one of England's most eligible bachelors." He smiled winningly at the curious Wizard. "But I _like_ your boys and wish to help you."

Arthur was looking a bit alarmed.

"They aren't in any trouble, don't fear!" he added jovially. "I just have some observations for you to think about." The Weasley head of family relaxed.

"Percy, first. Percy is . . . well there's no easy way to say this. He's a right _prat_. He worships authority and doesn't understand that rules are guidelines and not carved in stone. That there are nuances to any situation, mitigating factors, and damning facts. That you can be within the letter of the law and still be completely wrong. That you can obviously break the law, but still be right to do what you did." The red-haired man was staring at him. Gilderoy nodded firmly. "You need to sit down with the boy and have several nice _long_ chats about the reality of what it's like in the Ministry. How many will exploit a young man's naivety and dedication and then throw him to the wolves when it suits their purpose, denying they even know the boy. Use many real-world examples that you've seen in your career. Tell him what warning signs he needs to watch for in his superiors and colleagues to keep himself safe. Make sure he understands that the politician that pats him on the back is concealing a knife in that hand — and that in the Ministry everyone is a politician, even the interns." He stared back at the Wizard levelly. "If nothing is done, you will see him turn on his own family rather than think for himself and see that his superiors not only are wrong, but frequently pretend to believe things they know are untrue and hurtful."

Arthur cleared his throat, "Surely you exaggerate?"

"Sit down and talk with the boy, and you'll see the truth of what I say. After all the time I've spent travelling the world, and all the Wizards and Witches I've met during those travels, well, I've become a very finely tuned judge of character. I am rarely wrong. I would like to be wrong in this instance, but I doubt I am.

"Percy's an adult and he's not going through a phase. Unless you help him, I foresee nothing but misery for him and his relationship with your family. And he is a _splendid_ young man with a bright future before him. He needs to learn that kowtowing to your superiors to curry favour is a short-term strategy that will yield long-term difficulties. And once you lose your integrity, it is very difficult, if not impossible, to regain it. And that someone offering him an unearned promotion to responsibility is really looking for a patsy to take the fall when things go bottom-up."

Arthur looked down at the table, frowning.

"By the way," Lockhart continued, "did you know he's had a girlfriend since last year? It's an open secret at Hogwarts. And yet he doesn't think his own parents should know."

Arthur looked up sharply at that.

"Maybe you should arrange to meet with him in one of The Three Broomsticks' private rooms in Hogsmeade this coming weekend. Discuss a few things with him, hmm? Wizard to Wizard. Why wait until next summer when it might be too late?"

"Next, we have your son Ronald. And he has _many_ problems, all correctable if something is done now. Unfortunately, almost all his problems are the fault of the twins."

"The twins? Fred and George?" Arthur was astonished.

"Yes. Let me explain. First, Ron is horribly jealous of his brothers. He feels, and rightly, that no matter what he does it will never be enough. If he gets on the Gryffindor Quidditch team, so what? Three of his brothers already did that. What if he makes Captain of the team? Oh, that's right, Charlie already did that. Well, what if he scores in the top of his class? Oops, Percy, Bill and Charlie all have that honour. Well how about becoming a Prefect, oh, Percy, Bill and Charlie, again, did that! Well, okay, how about Head Boy! Oh dear, Bill did that and it looks like Percy will, too.

"And you know what would be worse for him? What if he tries and _fails_ at any of those? Will his mother ever forgive him for not doing as well as his brothers? She already ceaselessly compares him to his brothers, and he always comes up short. Why bother _trying_ if you know it will _never_ be good enough?

"So, what's the poor boy to do? Nothing he does will stand out and have his parents say, 'Wow, Ron, that's incredible, nobody in our family has ever done _that_!' He's afraid he'll always be in the shadow of his brothers.

"That would be bad enough, but the twins are making things worse. They continually belittle and browbeat him, and use him to test their pranks. They treat him as a pet to torment, not as a brother they should help.

"And his friends, true friends they are, make him look positively stupid. Hermione is head and shoulders above him academically, and Harry is _always_ at the centre of attention.

"Nobody _notices_ Ron unless he gets into a fight with Draco Malfoy. And his broken wand isn't helping him."

Arthur was looking appalled at these revelations. "Broken wand?"

"And there's more. He has the eating habits of a starving werewolf. It's truly disgusting to watch. Except for his two friends, nobody will sit near him at mealtime." He paused for emphasis. "And that is entirely the _twins_ fault. They screw with his food so much at home, Mr. Potter tells me, that if he doesn't stuff his food into his mouth as fast as possible, they dose it with a prank. They don't treat him as their brother, they treat him as an test rat on which they try their experimental potions and spells. A test subject to check their potions for harmful effects — and who knows what type of damage any _hidden_ side-effects may have had on the poor boy? Maybe that's why he seems to always be ravenously hungry! And _you_ do nothing about it!"

Arthur sat up at that declaration. "I . . . ."

"Do nothing!" stated Gilderoy, interrupting and waving his hand imperiously. "If you had done something, this wouldn't have happened! Here!" He put two small vials filled with a silvery liquid on the table. He put a finger on one bottle. "This is a memory of an incident Mr. Potter witnessed at _your_ home last summer. He was kind enough to let me copy it. Watch Ron and the twins closely. Watch how _you_ and your _wife_ react." He moved his finger to the second bottle, "This is a memory of an incident I saw in the Great Hall at mealtime. Watch them both, _then_ come back and tell me I am wrong."

He stared at the Wizard challengingly. "Send an owl to Hermione and Harry asking them to describe, honestly, Ron's eating habits if you believe I am exaggerating. For the unvarnished truth from an uninvolved third party, do the same with Neville Longbottom. He's a Pure-blood and _knows_ the proper manners one is supposed to display in public."

"Far be it for me to tell another how to control his family, but what I suggest you do is tell the twins that they are grounded next summer, all summer, until their brother _learns_ and _uses_ proper table manners," he suggested kindly. "And they can't coerce him in any way, shape, or manner. No potions, no spells, no hexes, no pranks to force him to change. They can only encourage him or, perhaps, bribe him.

"And the grounding means they are banned from their room! They sleep outside in a tent that they put up every evening and take down every morning. It means no pranks, no planning pranks, no visiting friends, nothing. If you hear any loud bangs, smell any strange smells from the tent, then they can spend the summer sleeping under the stars _without_ a tent. Their siblings are _not_ test animals for their pranks. If they want to be productive, they can teach Ron to be the best Quidditch player in the world. _That_ would make him happy! And make _sure_ they include their _sister_! She's developing quite the inferiority complex from her brothers denying her the right to do things that they and even other Witches do."

"They can spend their copious spare time taking care of the farm. This is their punishment for using their brother and sister as test prank-subjects and teaching Ron to eat like a rabid starving dog. Once he starts eating like a proper Wizard, you'll rescind the grounding." He stopped and let the other Wizard think for a few moments. "But they are still banned from using their siblings as test subjects."

Gilderoy smiled and turned his charm on full. "I'm not your enemy, Arthur," he said kindly. "I want you _and_ your family to prosper. I've willing taken on the mantle of the Dark Wizard Messenger because I _want_ your children _to_ _succeed_. Please think carefully about what I've said.

"I know you don't have a pensieve, but if you go to Madam Bones and tell her that I, Gilderoy Lockhart, gave you some memories that it is vital you see I'm sure she'll let you use the one the D.M.L.E. has." After the tips and help he's given her, his name should have some pull. "If she says she can't, owl me and _I'll_ make arrangements to get you access to one immediately."

He straightened, pulled out his wand, and dispelled his muffling charm.

"Now that that's done, let's enjoy this wonderful repast!"

The rest of the meal Gilderoy nattered on about his books, pretending not to notice that the man was deep in thought. Only occasionally did he directly address a question to Arthur, to which the Wizard could reply with a simple _yes_ or _no_.

As they were starting desert, Gilderoy noticed Macnair seemed to be getting ready to leave. He turned to Arthur and said jovially, "Well, what do you think about those rumours that Mr. Malfoy is talking with the Aurors? I heard that Madam Bones paid a call on him at his manor recently." Macnair stilled and leaned on his elbow scowling, as he pulled a parchment from his robes. That it also moved him fractionally closer and let him listen better was merely incidental. "With what they say about how he's not that stable mentally," Gilderoy continued, "I wonder if she's hoping he'll _accidentally_ reveal information about some of the Death Eaters she knows the D.M.L.E. missed ten years ago?" He leaned closer over the table conspiratorially, and loudly said, "Perhaps she's hoping that he really wasn't _imperioed_ and has been meeting with others so she can trap them, all together, eh? It would be quite a feather in her cap to prove some of those who cried, 'It wasn't my fault,' were lying, hmm?" He sat back, "And the best part would be that Lucius, in his current mental state, wouldn't even _realize_ he was letting loose things he shouldn't, so he wouldn't even _warn_ his friends he might have slipped up. Why, he might even deny meeting with her and the Aurors completely!"

Arthur was looking at him, puzzled. "No, I haven't heard any such thing."

Gilderoy waved his hand, "Ah, well, it's probably just a rumour." He took a drink from his wine glass. "But, you know, as the old saying goes, _where there's smoke, there's fire_."

The Professor studiously attacked his dessert as the Death Eater at the next table slowly stood and left. Harry/Gilderoy had hoped to spread the rumour by merely being loud in the staff dining room, that he managed to secure a table near a known Death Eater had been exceptional luck. Of course, using a discomfort hex on the previous occupants to get them to move to another table had helped.

A few minutes later, after a wonderful dessert, they were standing to leave. "You know, Arthur, sending a howler to Hogwarts and humiliating your children in front of their peers and professors is a terrible thing to do. Young children can be incredibly cruel, and a howler triggers days of taunts, jokes, and mean pranks at the expense of the recipient. I know it's rather common, but it truly borders on child abuse, I think. Kind of like knowing that Dark families beat their house-elves is one thing, but teaching your children that they should do that too, is another. Besides, think how _you_ would feel if Molly sent _you_ a Howler about forgetting an appointment and it arrived while you were in a Department Head meeting?

"You should ask your wife if she has ever thought of that. How _she_ would have felt at receiving one from her mother when she was a mere First or Second Year and made a mistake. And, outside of humiliating her, did it really make a difference in how she acted?"

The look Mr. Weasley gave him indicated that there were going to be many lengthy discussions in the Burrow over the next few days.

(⊙_⊙)

Harry had his week of headlines and things had once more tapered down to normal at _The Daily Prophet_ , and at Hogwarts. After a rather dull week, Gilderoy decided it was time to stir the cauldron once more.

Tomorrow would make it four weeks after Halloween and Gilderoy paced the seventh floor corridor opposite a certain tapestry just after breakfast. This time he was thinking he needed the Room of Lost Things. A frustrating four hours later, he triumphantly came out of the room with the Diadem secured in an Acromantula Silk bag.

Barely able to contain his excitement, he hurried into the Horcrux Room and followed the instructions. Harry/Gilderoy could hear a roaring noise beginning, which cut off as the inner door closed. Such was the closeness of the fit of the door to its frame he could hear nothing. So he sat on the floor, his back to the wall beside the door. He almost sat against the door, but realized he might disturb its seal, and who knew _what_ would happen then.

To be safe, he waited an extra ten minutes.

He cautiously opened the door and looked around the room. Black scorch marks covered the wall and the cold stone floor was now warm. The diadem, in the middle of the circle looked unharmed. In fact, it looked clean and polished — so clean and polished that it almost seemed to glow.

He slowly approached the circlet and cast a Dark detection spell on it. Nothing. He moved closer and hovered his hand just a fraction of an inch from it. In the Room of Lost Things, he could feel the evil emanating from the Diadem. In here, right now, nothing. He reverently picked it up. He turned it round and round and examined it closely. It looked perfect, not a single blemish anywhere he could see. He was tempted to try it on, to see just what it could do for him. But he resisted.

"Wit Beyond Measure is Man's Greatest Treasure," he read, staring at it. "But she still screwed up, didn't she? Ignored her poor daughter until the disregarded girl stole the Diadem, determined to get her mother's attention at last. Thus, she could pretend her mother was searching for her and not the Diadem. And not long after her daughter stole it, Rowena died. Did she become too dependent on it, I wonder?

"And didn't her daughter put it on? For if she had, _surely_ the Diadem would have allowed her to see that her actions would not yield the results she desired. So, the Diadem fails in its mission a second time.

"And finally, Tom Riddle. You travelled all the way to Romania and discovered the hidden Diadem. Did you not once try it on, Tom? If you had, wearing the Diadem should have revealed the folly of your chosen course. That it did not means the Diadem has failed again. Three times, it has failed, severely, failed to reveal the fatal flaws in all their plots. Three times! Perhaps her spell-work wasn't as magnificent as she expected.

"With that record, I fear I shall not attempt to analyse my plans with its help."

He pulled the silk bag out of his pocket and dropped the Diadem in it. Almost six hours total. He sighed. That was far better than the weeks and weeks he and Hermione had wasted searching for the bloody tiara the last time. And the horcrux's destruction had been _so_ much easier this time.

Tomorrow, Monday morning, the last Monday in November, at breakfast, he would present the Lost Diadem to Professor Flitwick.

He left the room, not noticing as the door very slowly disappeared behind him. He headed for the owlery. He wanted to give Rita a heads up on what was going to happen that tomorrow.

(◎_⊙)

"Ah, Rita, as punctual as ever," Gilderoy welcomed the reporter and her photographer expansively. He made sure his best profile was always facing the photographer. He had told her to meet him at the Hogwarts' Front Gates at seven.

"Okay, Gilderoy, what's the big secret? Another interview with Potter?"

"Oh, no, my dear, something even better. I, Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defence League, five-time winner of _Witch Weekly's_ Most-Charming-Smile Award, and Hogwarts' beloved Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor, guarantee you front-page headlines both tonight and tomorrow!"

He could see that the headline hungry Witch almost started salivating at the prospect. "Oh?" she replied coolly.

"It's about something," he half-whispered, "that's been missing since Hogwarts was first founded. I have accomplished what Headmasters and others have failed to do for almost a thousand years!" He rubbed his hands together gleefully. "I have _found_ the lost Ravenclaw Diadem." He halted as the reporter stopped dead and stared at him.

He grinned broadly, "Yes, that's right, I, Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defence League, five-time winner of _Witch Weekly's_ Most-Charming-Smile Award, and beloved Hogwarts' Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor, have recovered the famed diadem created by Rowena Ravenclaw." He paused, relishing the moment, and then added, "And _you_ get the scoop!"

He watched as the Witch stared at him wide-eyed, then she closed her eyes and shuddered. Gilderoy/Harry almost fell over in surprise, had she just had an orgasm? He shook his head to throw out that image.

He reached inside his robes and pulled out the silk bag. Reverently, he reached inside and lifted the diadem out to show Rita.

Her mouth formed an "O" of surprise and she lifted a hand, gently touching the relic. The photographer, Bozo, swooped in for a close-up or four.

After letting her run her fingers over the inscription, he dropped it back in the bag. "At breakfast today I plan to present it to Professor Flitwick. Just follow my lead."

He led the two into the Great Hall and seated them at the head of the Ravenclaw table, explaining to the nearby students, "They are my guests this morning. We'll be doing an interview after breakfast." He looked over at Bozo, "Be ready to get some great shots of amazed Professors, _especially_ the Headmaster."

He told the other Professors as they approached the Headmaster's Table that Rita and her photographer were his guests. The Headmaster gave him a sharp look and leaned close to say, "Next time tell me ahead of time when you brings guests into the Great Hall." The twinkle was noticeably absent. Then the old Wizard continued to his throne. The old goat apparently didn't like Rita, only Merlin knew _why_. Lockhart found the Witch to be delightful.

When the Hall was as filled as it was going to get, Gilderoy stood and tapped his goblet with his knife. It was _show time_. The sharp _ting, ting, ting,_ echoed through the room. After a few moments, everyone had stopped talking to listen.

"I have an important announcement to make." The Headmaster did not look pleased, the last time Gilderoy had played to an audience, it had been the Aurors and Dumbledore still felt the backlash from that.

"As you all know, I, Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defence League, five-time winner of _Witch Weekly's_ Most-Charming-Smile Award, and your beloved Professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts," there were a few snickers at that, "have been combing Hogwarts from the deepest of its dungeons to the top of its lofty spires searching for clues to the location of the hidden Chamber of Secrets."

Rita gave him an incredulous look. Apparently, this was the first time anyone had mentioned the Chamber in her hearing. He gave her a knowing smile.

"In my thorough meanderings I have come across various clues regarding many lost items, such as Slytherin's Locket, Hufflepuff's Cup, and Gryffindor's Sword, to name just a few.

"Professor Flitwick, if you would come with me." He motioned the other to follow him as he walked to the front of the Headmaster's Table. He quickly conjured a series of steps on the platform and motioned Flitwick to step up on them, putting them both at eyelevel to each other as Gilderoy stood on the floor. They were standing parallel to the Headmaster's table to give the students and staff the best possible view.

He gave a quick hand-signal to Bozo and the Wizard quickly positioned himself for the coming photos. The students and professors were watching carefully, whispering to each other and wondering what he was about to reveal.

Lockhart carefully reached into his pocket and took out the bag. He conjured a royal blue coloured pillow and placed the bag on it, then lifted and held the pillow between them. "Professor Flitwick, you are the Head of Ravenclaw House," he said loudly enough for his voice to carry to the entire hall. "It gives me, Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defence League, five-time winner of _Witch Weekly's_ Most-Charming-Smile Award, and Hogwarts' beloved Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor great pleasure to restore to your House, and Hogwarts, _this_!"

He reached for the bag and as he touched it, the bag vanished, revealing the gleaming Diadem. He had performed a wandless _finite_ , but planned to tell them he had previously placed a word-sensitive _finite_ on the conjured bag.

" _Lady_ _Rowena Ravenclaw's_ _Diadem_ ," Gilderoy concluded loudly.

Pandemonium broke out as the photographer's flash went off like a series of exploding Christmas lights as Bozo frantically took pictures.

The noise continued as Gilderoy smiled and posed dramatically, beaming happily at everyone. Flitwick stared wonderingly at the diadem on the pillow. Other cameras appeared, and even more pictures taken until finally the Headmaster set off a loud blast.

He stared at Gilderoy, then at the Diadem. "Is that really?" he asked, his eyes twinkling like mad.

Gilderoy, delighted to be the centre of attention of hundreds of watchers, said, "Well, there _is_ one way to prove it. You do know _who_ the Grey Lady is, don't you?" The entire school knew of the Grey Lady, the haughty and always silent Ravenclaw ghost. The Headmaster's eyes widened and he nodded.

"Perhaps if you call her," Gilderoy prompted.

Moments later, the stately retiring ghost glided into the Great Hall. Her gaze locked on the Diadem immediately and she rushed over to stare at it. Lockhart looked over at her. "I think you know what this is, Lady Helena Ravenclaw," he said quietly.

The Ravenclaws closest to them gasped and quickly spread the word that their ghost was none other than Rowena Ravenclaw's daughter. How could they _not_ have known?

She turned her stare to him. "You cleansed it, the evil taint is gone," she half-whispered. "It is exactly as I remember it from long ago. I can _feel_ my mother's magic in it." The Headmaster looked sharply at the ghost. He would be questioning her later about that taint.

The blonde-haired Wizard was so happy he wanted to dance. "Yes, Madam Helena Ravenclaw, it is as it was when you originally hid it away," He said loudly. The entire _hall_ gasped at the realization as to the true identity of the Ravenclaw ghost.

Her eyes were shining and if he had thought it possible, he would have said she was crying in joy.

He turned back to Professor Flitwick. "And so, Professor, I give to you the authenticated Lady _Rowena_ Ravenclaw's Diadem." He placed the pillow in the diminutive professor's hands and stepped back.

He turned and loudly proclaimed to the room, "At last, the lost Diadem of Ravenclaw is returned to its home." He pointed his arm at the pillow as Professor Flitwick proudly faced the Great Hall and held it up high for everyone to see.

The Headmaster was the first to start clapping, and in moments, the entire hall filled with thunderous applause. Whatever his failings might be, Gilderoy Lockhart had ensured his place in Hogwarts' history as the one who had found the famous priceless Ravenclaw Diadem. None could _ever_ gainsay that accomplishment!

When the applause died down, Harry/Gilderoy said, "I propose that a special display cabinet be placed in the Entry Way to the Great Hall, so that all can see and admire this great Founder's treasure. Perhaps with a plaque describing its history and that I, Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defence League, five-time winner of _Witch Weekly's_ Most-Charming-Smile Award, and Hogwarts' beloved Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor found and returned the Diadem to its rightful place."

There was another round of thunderous applause.

Monday evening's _The Daily Prophet_ was everything Gilderoy could have hoped for and wanted. No fewer than six different articles referenced him, including one that was a biography all about _his_ achievements. Never had he had such exposure in the newsparchment. And tomorrow the other magical newsparchments would pick up the stories and spread them across the world. He had quite probably doubled the number of people who knew his name. And increased book sales would quickly follow.

As Gilderoy/Harry folded the newsparchment so that his headline was prominent and placed it face-up beside his plate, the Headmaster leaned over. "Excuse me, Gilderoy, would you please come to my office after tea tonight?"

"Certainly, Albus! I'd be happy to do that for you. Just let me ask the lovely Minerva, here, to tell Ron his detention tonight has been changed to Mr. Filch." He turned to the Witch in question and made his request, concluding with a sigh, "It's too bad Mr. Malfoy won't be in detention with him. I heard that Mr. Filch's thumbscrews need oiling, the two students could have cleaned and tested their action."

She gave him an appalled look.

He grinned mischievously, "You know, making sure the heads are nice and firm, that the clamps are good and tight, that the screws go in and out smoothly, that the knobs are properly polished?" He arched an eyebrow inquisitively.

She stared at him an additional moment, startled at the innuendo, before suddenly smiling back, "Of course, I don't mind, Gilderoy. I'm finished anyway, so I'll tell him now." There seemed to be an odd twinkle in her eye. She stood and walked around the table, her hips swaying a bit more than he usually noticed when she walked in the corridors.

In the back of his head Harry could hear Gilderoy giggling, 'oh, she's ready, she is.' Harry/Gilderoy closed his eyes momentarily trying to drive out the thought that his former Transfigurations Professor was flirting with him.

That evening, after tea, he followed the old bearded bastard back to the Wizard's office.

After offering Gilderoy a lemon drop, which he declined, the Headmaster said, "I had an interesting discussion with the Grey Lady this afternoon."

Gilderoy smiled, "Yes, she's quite a lovely lady, isn't she. Doesn't say much though. It's a pity because I believe the students could learn a lot from her, especially what the Founders were _really_ like instead of what generations of historians have made up. Perhaps you could talk her into giving us a lecture in the Great Hall one evening on the founding of Hogwarts?" The Headmaster nodded and smiled at the suggestion, half-whispering, "Perhaps."

They both sat silent. Gilderoy knew this game. Albus loved this passive/aggressive crap. Say something vague and leading, and wait for his victim to get nervous and say something they hadn't intended. Gilderoy just kept a silly vacant smile on his face. If the Headmaster let too much time pass, then Gilderoy planned to start talking about his next book, tentatively entitled, "Hanging Out at Hogwarts."

Fortunately, Albus caved in first. "She tells me you only spoke a few words to her, and never about the Diadem."

"That's true. I knew she was Helena Ravenclaw the first time I saw her. It's rather obvious, don't you know, she looks almost _exactly_ like her mother's painting in 'Hogwarts, A History' and her bust in the Ravenclaw Common Room. And if she hadn't revealed any clues about the Diadem in the last thousand years, she wasn't about to start with me. I mean, I know I'm personable, I know I'm persuasive, I know people, especially women, tend to adore me — and why shouldn't they? I'm a five-time winner of _Witch Weekly's_ Most-Charming-Smile Award! But, in spite of that, I decided it would be better to just observe her." He stopped. "Meanwhile, I carefully combed the Castle looking for clues, trying to . . . to _feel_ . . . the magic of the Diadem. And then I found it."

The Headmaster's eyes had widened abrupt explanation. "And where did you find it?" he finally asked.

"Ah! To find the answer to _that_ question, you'll need to buy my next book, 'Hanging Out at Hogwarts'. It will be quite an enthralling tale with much advice on how to maintain your composure and good looks while under tribulations!"

The Headmaster's eyes were not twinkling as much as they were a moment before. "I see," was all he said.

"There is one thing that bothers me about the Diadem, though." Gilderoy paused and watched the old Headmaster, waiting.

He could see the Dumbledore's glasses tilt slightly at he raised an eyebrow in silent enquiry. "Well, the Diadem had a quite Dark Curse on it. So powerful a curse, I could feel it while still a step away. And I had the oddest compulsion to put it on." He shifted in his chair, as if uncomfortable. "Naturally, my extensive experience in the Dark Arts allowed me to ignore the compulsion. Many Wizards would, I'm sure, have succumbed, but Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defence League, five-time winner of _Witch Weekly's_ Most-Charming-Smile Award, and Hogwarts' beloved Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor is made of sterner stuff!" he declared, straightening in the chair, casting a beaming smile at the old Wizard. "Thinking quickly I conjured a silk bag and a long pole. I picked up the Diadem with the pole and dropped it directly into the bag. Then I cast a powerful containment enchantment on the bag to protect myself."

He leaned forward towards the other Wizard. "Do you know what a Horcrux is, Albus?" The Headmaster froze still, only his eyes moving as he watched and listened.

Gilderoy nodded. "That's what it was, Albus." He leaned back "Fortunately, using my vast knowledge of runes and experience with magic circles, I created a way to destroy the Horcrux without destroying the Diadem."

The Headmaster frowned, "Are you sure it was a Horcrux?"

"Absolutely. I found a book in Egypt several years or so ago that described them in great detail, as well as describing how difficult they were to eliminate. And any Curse-breaker in Gringotts can tell you all about them. They run into them frequently in Egyptian tombs." He sighed and leaned forward again.

"And the worst thing is, Albus, now that I have first-hand experience with the vile things, I _know_ I've felt the same evil taint wandering the corridors of this school." He nodded sagely at the Headmaster's dumbfounded expression. "Yes, wandering the corridors. Someone in this school is carrying a Horcrux around as if it were a common book, ring, or locket."

The Headmaster appeared to refuse to believe him, but he knew he had shaken the Wizard to his core. He left not much later after some small talk about the Weasley boys.

(⊙_◎)

There was one thing that gave him even more pleasure than all the mentions in _The Daily Prophet_. Buried in the back of Tuesday morning's edition was a story of an attack. Unknown assailants had murdered Mr. Malfoy in his own home Monday afternoon while his wife was out visiting a friend. The Aurors believed it had to be a known associate of the man or he would never have allowed his attacker inside the protective enchantments on his home.

Gilderoy grinned happily at that. The Aurors' questioning was bound to bring up details the Death Eaters would have preferred remained hidden.

Draco was devastated, but in all the rejoicing at the return of the Diadem, not many people noticed the boy's distress. Perhaps he should suggest to Ron that he console the poor boy in his loss. At the very least he could take a few points and maybe assign a detention or two based on how violently Ron exploded at the thought of actually being civil to his hated enemy.

He had struck a mighty blow against the Death Eater organization and Voldewhore, depriving them of both a major funding source and a wily strategist.

Gilderoy visited the Hogsmeade Post-owl Office at Tuesday dinner and sent a brief message to Madam Bones. He suggested she search for a secret room under the Malfoy's drawing room floor. He had over-heard Draco mumbling about it during a detention, worrying that his father might have revealed the secret cache and stolen the galleons he knew were stored there as well as other things of importance.

The fines for the hidden Dark artefacts would severely dent the Malfoy family's remaining financial resources, and their status, and increase Draco's discomfort.

After his brief meeting with the Headmaster, he gave several interviews to international newsparchments. And, incidentally, bragged about his other exploits and repeatedly mentioned how he was mentoring Mr. Harry Potter to follow his example to become a great Wizard.


	11. Chapter 11 Riddle Me This

**Chapter 11. Riddle Me This**

Yesterday had been Thursday, the week after Gilderoy's revelation of the Ravenclaw Diadem, and Gilderoy had made another presentation at breakfast to the Headmaster.

After attracting everyone's attention just before the house-elves served dessert, he had reached into his robes, pulled out a package, and tapped it with his wand. It had grown to a much larger package. He had smiled broadly, and placed the package in front of the Headmaster's place setting.

"I, Gilderoy Lockhart," he had loudly proclaimed, "Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defence League, five-time winner of _Witch Weekly's_ Most-Charming-Smile Award, and beloved Hogwarts Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor, present to you a set of _fresh_ and _mature_ mandrakes, from _South Africa_. The provider tells me these are _more_ than suitable for making Mr. Colin Creevey's Mandrake Restorative Potion. There is _no_ need to wait until May to find out what he saw and what petrified him, as you had originally planned, Headmaster."

Bozo had been present, as had Rita. Another perfect photo opportunity for Gilderoy at the expense of the Headmaster. Lockhart's perfect smile gleamed, in contrast to the lack of twinkling in Dumbledore's eyes.

"Professor Snape has assured me it will only take a few days to prepare the potion once the Mandrakes were ready, so with these mandrakes Mr. Creevey will be able to join his classmates no later than _Monday_!" He had posed beside the package as the room had burst into applause. The headlines that evening had been exquisite, in Gilderoy's opinion. For the Headmaster? Not so much. Why hadn't the Headmaster thought of doing that, the newsparchments had asked. Why hadn't the Headmaster ordered Mandrakes from South Africa instead of Lockhart? Why had he waited? What was he hoping to _hide_? Was he really suited to be Headmaster?

And now it was Friday. Anything interesting that happened at dinner today would miss the evening newsparchments' deadlines. By Monday, it would be old news. And with his news yesterday, no one would expect anything from Gilderoy until late next week.

The students were talking animatedly about school matters and the latest rumours. Well, mostly rumours, as Professor Lockhart knew.

He slowly strolled past the students as though monitoring them, moving from table to table. Many students smiled as they greeted him and asked him quick questions about things from his classes.

Gilderoy was truly in his element. The girls watched him go by with dreamy expressions. If he happened to catch the eye of a Witch, she invariably blushed and looked away. Finding the lost diadem had upped his standing among the students and staff. Professors Sinistra and McGonagall were actively flirting with him! Gilderoy was thrilled, Harry, not so much.

The Wizards weren't so enamoured of him, but they had developed a grudging respect for him and his classes.

The D.A.D.A. class was quickly becoming as popular as Professor Flitwick's Charms and Professor McGonagall's Transfiguration classes. Potions, of course, remained as the single most hated class in the school. The only person Professor Snape scowled at more than Harry was Professor Lockhart.

Harry/Gilderoy was quite pleased with himself, and he knew it showed. After their spectacular entrance at the Sorting Feast, Harry and Ron had settled down to having a normal year — or, at least, as normal as Harry was ever going to have. Neville had a proper wand and talk of his being a squib was well into the past — a distinct improvement over last year and Harry's future. Gilderoy had managed to prevent Luna from having a miserable Hogwarts' experience — she had had a rough start, but was now flourishing with her new friends. Draco was muzzled — his father's death and the family's sharp decline in fortunes had removed whatever influence in Slytherin he might have had. He had transitioned from a top dog to a bottom. Harry, both of them, hoped he enjoyed his new position.

Harry/Gilderoy anonymously sent him kneepads, mouthwash, and a haemorrhoid potion. To ensure Draco opened the package in the Great Hall Gilderoy wrapped the box in the same paper Draco's mother used to deliver his daily chocolate supply. Draco was puzzled as he unloaded the box, but the older and more experienced students, mostly Witches, quickly burst into gales of laughter.

Gilderoy's return of Rowena Ravenclaw's Diadem had greatly increased his standing in the public eye, and book sales had reflected that change. Thanks to Malfoy's arrogance, Gilderoy's vault was packed with galleons, and the new deals for Harry's books, as well as his part of the boy's late-paid royalties, had added even more. His expenditures were miniscule by comparison. His income properties were coming along nicely, and they would give him more galleons than last year's book sales. But from Harry/Gilderoy's point of view, his best acquisition was Dobby.

Harry was getting good press and people had a very positive impression of the young Wizard. The Lilly Potter Foundation was well funded, now, and already had a list of potential candidates to help next year. There would be a substantial increase in new students next year.

Ron was almost apoplectic at all the attention _The Daily Prophet_ lavished on the Boy-Who-Lived. Hearing about how rich Harry was, and that it was increasing, didn't improve his disposition. Gilderoy's constant mentions of the disparity between Ron's low position academically and in Gryffindor for his point loses and Harry's high grades and popularity throughout the school didn't help. He wore an almost permanent scowl.

Unfortunately, though, all of Hagrid's Roosters were dead and next week Tommy-boy was going to let the Basilisk out to play once more. Harry/Gilderoy just couldn't let that happen to Justin again. He needed to nip that flower in the bud. Once more, it was _show time_! Pity that the audience this time was restricted to just the school.

He strolled casually between the tables, projecting an image of confidence in himself with every step, one hand on his hip sweeping his robes back with a dramatic flair.

Today, his robes were the perfect shade of lavender to show off his blue eyes. His winning smile was on display and his hair carefully coiffed to perfection. The girl's nearly swooned as he passed them by. He would have looked at home at a formal Ball. For the school, he was more than slightly overdressed, but he knew and didn't care. It was all about presentation. If you _look_ important people will think you _are_ important!

He stopped occasionally to provide his audience with an inspiring pose. He acted every inch the brainless peacock, more interested in appearance than substance. It was such _fun_ to hoodwink his opponents.

People were looking at him and watching him for all the right reasons! Harry/Gilderoy felt like hiding, but Gilderoy/Harry thrived on the attention. And Harry was slowly coming around to Gilderoy's point of view.

He noted, happily, that the group of Harry, Hermione, Neville, and Luna were talking animatedly. By Hermione's expression, Harry/Gilderoy knew that Luna was once more befuddling her with mysterious creatures. His example of the duck-billed platypus and okapi, and Hagrid's thestrals, had shut down most of her objections to the other girl's "imaginary" creatures. That and pointing out how all the Muggle books she grew up with denied the magic world she was currently experiencing. Now she just listened, and occasionally asked for more information.

Instead of participating in their discussions, Ron was stuffing his face as if he thought he never would see food again. At least this time he was showing some proper manners and not trying to talk with food in his mouth. And he was actually chewing his food as well!

Ron, Hermione, Harry, and Luna were on one side of the table with the wall to their back and keeping the Slytherin Table in sight, while Neville sat across from them. To Gilderoy's amusement, Susan Bones and her best friend Hannah Abbott had bracketed Neville between them. Gilderoy would do his part to ensure that that romance had a decent chance. He was pleased to note that several other students were sitting with friends from other Houses.

He passed them and headed towards the table's end, where Ginny Weasley sat picking at her food. The other Firsties were nearby, but none appeared to be engaged in conversation with her. If he didn't know better, he would have thought they were shunning the girl. They weren't, she had rebuffed their attempts to include her several times over the last few weeks. He stopped at the end of the table and turned around to look at the Headmaster's table. He stared intently at Professor McGonagall, knowing she would pick up on the 'I'm _looking_ at you' feeling.

Sure enough, less than a minute passed before she looked up at him. He smiled and tilted his head to the side, motioning that he wanted her to join him. She stared back a moment, frowned, and stood. As she headed across the hall, he looked down at Ginny, still smiling his perfect smile. Ginny was already looking at him, wondering why he had stopped beside her and yet said nothing.

"Miss Weasley," he said cheerily, "You look a bit tired. Have you been getting enough sleep?"

Surprised he had noticed the dark marks under her eyes, she said, "Yes, sir. I don't know why I feel so tired this morning."

"Are you eating well?" he asked in concern.

"Yes sir, but I don't have much appetite this morning."

The nearby girls were listening enviously. If only Gilderoy would talk with _them_! The boys were trying to ignore him.

"Hm. Perhaps you should see Madam Pomfrey today to make sure you aren't coming down with something. If you aren't feeling well, you shan't appreciate my class as much as you could. I would be truly disappointed if you didn't get the full benefit of my wondrous intellect and experiences." He radiated a genuine feeling of wanting to help the girl.

Professor McGonagall was almost to his side.

"Tell me, Miss Weasley, do you keep a diary?"

The girl stiffened and a frightened look briefly appeared on her face. "Uh, yes, sir."

"Very good! I find that keeping a diary — well, actually, Wizards like to call them journals, sounds more manly, don't you know — anyway, I find keeping a daily journal helps me organize my thoughts." He smiled at her benevolently. "It's ever so useful to be able to go back weeks, months, or years, and see exactly what I was doing or thinking on a certain day. It helps bring clarity to my decisions." And helps combat any attempts at someone meddling with his mind in the future, he didn't say out loud. He looked at her, waiting for a response. Several of the girls within earshot, he saw, were asking their friends if they had a diary to spare.

Not knowing what else to say, she said, "Um, yes, sir." She was still on guard, though.

"Do you keep your diary with you, my dear?"

She frowned, "Yes, sir. It's in my bag."

"Wonderful!" he exclaimed. He had been afraid that today she might have left it in her dorm room. That would have delayed things and wouldn't have been as dramatic. "I find that keeping my journal at hand is a _marvellous_ way to jot down the day's events when I have a few spare moments, instead of trying to remember everything just before I retire for my nightly beauty sleep." He smiled at her. "A well-rested Wizard is a well-prepared Wizard, don't you know? Or Witch I should say, I suppose." His smile beamed down at her.

He glanced at Professor McGonagall standing beside him. She was annoyed that he had called her over and seemed to be ignoring her. He leaned close and whispered in her ear, "Watch her carefully." He glanced around. At least half the Gryffindor table was watching, with a substantial portion of the other Houses doing so as well. Percy was walking down the aisle towards them, no doubt concerned for his sister. The twins were standing and watching.

He pulled out his wand with a flourish and said, " _Accio_ Ginny's diary."

Her eyes shot wide open and she made a belated grab for her bag as it rustled. A thin black book with gold-coloured corner protectors flew up in front of Gilderoy. Gilderoy held it suspended in front of him and slowly rotated it.

"Hm," he said, "purchased from Winstanley's Bookstore & Stationers, an establishment on Vauxhall Road, London. That's a Muggle firm, how did you _ever_ find this book? And what's this name, here?" He stopped the rotation and said loudly, "Tom Riddle?"

He looked up at the Headmaster's table to see the old Wizard walking quickly around the end of that table. He wasn't wasting any time in getting here.

He looked down at the little Witch. She was staring up at him in horror and he could see the sheen of sweat on her face. The poor girl was terrified!

"Really now, Professor Lockhart, return Miss Ginny's property at once. You have no right to see something so private!" said McGonagall, outraged at his presumption.

"I'm afraid I can't do that, Minerva, because this book is possessed by the _vilest_ magic you can imagine. Can't you _feel_ it?"

She jerked her attention from him to the book.

As Ginny started to jump up to grab the book, Gilderoy cast a silent _stupefy_ on the girl with his free hand, dropping her back in her seat where she slumped forward beside her plate, which he magically moved aside. He magically guided her collapse subtly with his left hand until it appeared she was hiding her face in her arms on the table, and not knocked out.

The Transfiguration professor stared at the book, then pulled her wand and cast a strong detection spell at it. The book momentarily disappeared in an inky black cloud. She took a startled step back. "My word!" she exclaimed. She turned her shocked gaze to him.

The upper year students close enough to understand what was going on gasped and moved back, pulling their less informed mates with them.

The Headmaster arrived just then, staring at the diary in disbelief.

Gilderoy said, loudly and reproachfully, "I told you, did I not, Headmaster, that there was a vile Dark Artefact being paraded in the Halls? Well, here it is. The exact same magic that possessed Ravenclaw's Diadem." He could see the Headmaster eyes widen in surprise.

He looked down the Gryffindor table towards Harry; others would think he was just staring into the distance. Then he glanced at the Headmaster. "And I have felt another somewhere in Hogwarts," he calmly stated. The Headmaster started, but retained enough control not to glance at Harry.

Minerva put a hand below her throat in shock. "Another one?" she whispered, "Like this?"

"Yes," Gilderoy said sadly, shaking his head. "There is still another here." He took a deep breath, then smiled broadly, displaying his magnificent teeth. "Amazing, isn't it, that the Castle's protective enchantments seem _unable_ to detect these things. I would think they would be set to detect _any_ Dark enchanted items as a threat to the students when they hit the Castle's protective enchantments. But I guess they are not. Rather careless, if you ask me." He planted a seed of doubt in the older Witch's mind. The Headmaster was staring daggers at him.

"I, Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defence League, five-time winner of _Witch Weekly's_ Most-Charming-Smile Award, and Hogwarts' beloved Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor has done it again!" he proclaimed loudly. "One more innocent saved because of my superior knowledge and skills." He was like a peacock proudly spreading its tail to attract attention. And he was succeeding.

By now, the entire room understood something important had just happened. The ones farther away were asking those closer what had happened. They quickly quieted down as they realized he was speaking.

"Children, you can tell you parents that once again I assure them I will keep you all safe while you are here at Hogwarts. I, Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defence League, five-time winner of _Witch Weekly's_ Most-Charming-Smile Award, and your beloved Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor is on the job _here_!"

He brandished the book higher, so all could see it. "There is a _vile_ piece of magic on this book, and it has been trying to possess an _innocent_ Witch. She is safe now, as are you all! The book can harm no one. I _shall_ dispose of it. And then I _shall_ _find_ the foul Wizard who would try to entrap an _innocent_ Witch in a web of evil by giving her what appears to be a harmless book!" Actually, the one that gave her the book was already dead at the hand of his compatriots, but nobody else knew that.

Percy had made his way to his sister and was kneeling down beside her. "Mr. Weasley," Gilderoy said in a normal voice, "Do _not_ touch her."

The Prefect jerked his hand back as if it were scalded.

The blonde-haired professor turned his attention to Dumbledore, who was staring intently at the book still held above their heads. "Headmaster, Albus, I am not one to meddle in another's business, but I think Miss Weasley here needs to have Madam Pomfrey give her a thorough examination, in _all_ particulars." He stared meaningfully at the old Wizard, then at Professor McGonagall. " _All_ particulars," he repeated. "Who knows what else a Wizard evil enough to have one of these in his possession might do to an innocent under-aged witch," he concluded in an undertone only those two were close enough to hear.

Professor McGonagall gasped and turned to stare at Ginny. The Headmaster continued to stare at the diary, frowning.

"I casted a _stupefy_ on her a moment ago to spare her the embarrassment of being the focus of the room." And to prevent Tom from acting, but he couldn't say that out loud. "Perhaps you should float her to the infirmary, Minerva." He turned his full attention to the Headmaster. "I'm not one to meddle in another's business, Headmaster, but maybe you should inform Mr. and Mrs. Weasley of this situation?"

The Headmaster had to force himself to stop staring at the book. "Yes, of course," he said distractedly.

Gilderoy guided the book down and into a silk bag that he then placed in his pocket. He looked up around the room. "Misters Weasley, would you all attend here please?" He clapped his hands twice. "That's all, children. You may return to your repasts. And don't some of you have a class coming up?"

The room quickly dissolved into the dull roar of hundreds of students talking loudly and gathering their things. There would be many discussion about what had just happened.

McGonagall was already gone, Percy trailing in her wake worriedly. When the remaining Weasleys had all assembled, Gilderoy said, "Meet the Headmaster in his office, your parents will be there shortly." They hurried off.

Gilderoy sighed happily and stood posed in triumph. He had done it again. And done it well. Unfortunately, keeping the news of Voldewhore's horcruxes out of the public's knowledge was the only reason he would sacrifice his headlines, and the attendant increase in his reputation, although the rumour mill should work in his favour.

After a few minutes of watching the students leave, with the girls all casting looks of admiration at the Professor who had just saved the life of a student, Gilderoy turned and headed for the Headmaster's Office. He expected that by now, Mr. Weasley had collected his wife and was on his way to Hogwarts. Gilderoy should arrive just in time to make a dramatic entrance. And, he expected, a dramatic confrontation. The Headmaster was _not_ going to like what Gilderoy planned to tell the Weasleys.

He halted a second just at the top of the stairs to the Headmaster's Office to compose himself. Smiling broadly, he thrust open the door and strode inside, his robes billowing around him. Just as he had thought, the Headmaster was greeting the Weasley parents who had not even had time to sit in the provided chairs.

"Ah, good!" exclaimed Gilderoy, "everyone except Mr. Percy Weasley is here." Mr. Weasley was watching him, surprised, while Mrs. Weasley was anxious at the thought of one of her brood being in danger.

Before the Headmaster could say more than, "Professor Lockhart . . . ." Gilderoy launched into action.

"I am so _sorry_ ," the D.A.D.A. professor said addressing the two parents, "That we had to disturb you today. I know what a trial it is for a working man such as yourself, Mr. Weasley, to escape your busy office on such short notice. And Mrs. Weasley, I know, is just as busy keeping home and hearth functioning so well." Both Weasleys looked a bit taken aback while the twins and Ron rolled their eyes at his smarmy actions.

"Never fear, _I_ , Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defence League, five-time winner of _Witch Weekly's_ Most-Charming-Smile Award, Hogwarts' beloved Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor, and adventurer extraordinaire, have rescued your daughter, Miss Weasley from a fate worse than death. And I am not exaggerating! But, no farther harm to her shall occur." The adults looked worried now, and the children perturbed. Percy quietly slipped into the room.

"First, I must give you a little background. Perhaps you heard earlier this year that on October 31st the Chamber of Secrets was opened and a pet was petrified?" The adults slowly nodded. "What you may not know is that the last time the Chamber of Secrets was opened, some fifty years ago, a child died." Now they did look alarmed, and Molly was wringing her hands together.

"Now, I did extensive research on that previous episode and discovered some disturbing facts. Even though no marks of any kind were on the poor girl's body, the Headmaster at that time, Armando Dippet, decided that Third-year Rubeus Hagrid's pet Acromantula was the monster. The Headmaster had him expelled from the school and his wand snapped. The evidence used was the word of one Tom Riddle, a Fifth-year Prefect. That's all, just the word of one student against another, even though everyone _knows_ Acromantulas kill with a venomous bite."

The Headmaster interrupted, "Surely that isn't important, now, Gilderoy, we need to deal with what happened today." He leaned forward in his chair and projecting an air of Grandfatherly concern.

"Yes, Headmaster, it _is_ important. Miss Weasley's family must understand the awful trial that she has been through, and what they must do to help her recover. Or she, like Hagrid was, will be swept aside and the injustice ignored." The entire Weasley family stiffened in response to that declaration.

He turned back to the Weasleys. "What the Headmaster wants to keep _secret_ from you is that Tom Riddle, the one who accused Hagrid, used that girl's death, Myrtle Warren — you may know her as Moaning Myrtle." They all exchanged glances, no one who attended Hogwarts left without hearing of Myrtle. "He used her death to create a foul artefact, one of the most _vile_ pieces of magic you can imagine. He turned an ordinary item," Gilderoy pulled the silk bag out of his pocket and slid the opening down far enough for them to see the book, and the name one it. He held it up in his left hand. "He made this diary into a Soul Vessel." Harry surreptitiously slid his wand into his other hand. "Notice the name here," he tapped the index finger of the hand holding the diary, "is Tom Riddle!"

The Headmaster stood, "I must _insist_ that you stop right there, Gilderoy, this concerns something they do _not_ need to know." The old Wizard was furious, his eyes had gone flat without the slightest trace of a twinkle.

"Yes, they _DO_ need to know." Gilderoy angrily replied. "And unless you intend to have a spell battle in this office right now, I intend to tell them the _TRUTH_!" Harry had his wand pointed at the old Wizard.

The Weasleys were watching with mouths agape. Harry noticed from the edges of his eyes that the twins had their wands out and ready, as well, and they seemed more pointed at the Headmaster than himself.

"Someone, the Headmaster does not as yet know whom," he said, glaring at Dumbledore, eyes narrowed and daring him to stop the D.A.D.A. professor from revealing what he knew. "Someone gave this diary to your daughter with the intent that it would _consume_ her soul and give the soul bound in the diary a living, breathing body. And thus bringing back to life the one that used to be known as Tom Riddle and is now known as _Lord Voldemort_!"

The Weasleys gasped as one at that name, and Mrs. Weasley collapsed into a nearby seat. The twins, Ron, and their father were staring at him as if he were mad.

"Are you ready, Headmaster?" Harry's wand was outstretched, pointing accusingly at the Wizard and the tip glowing with a potential spell. "Are you ready to _obliviate_ us all?" he yelled. "The entire school? For the battle shall not be an easy one and I dare say the entire castle shall hear and feel the effects!"

The Headmaster knew Gilderoy had the drop on him. Even though he had his wand at hand, he would not get off a single spell before Gilderoy bespelled him. If they had been alone he might have dared to try. But they weren't.

They stared at one another for a timeless period before the Headmaster sighed and sat back in his chair. "I shall require a Wizards Oath that none shall know what was revealed in this room today."

"No." Harry/Gilderoy said. His wand still pointed at Dumbledore. "An Oath that their magic will only let them tell those who need to know or already know of the information about horcruxes, or once Voldemort, Tom Riddle, is decisively dealt with and no longer a danger to people who don't believe in his rule."

They again engaged in a staring contest. "And that you will not _obliviate_ anyone in this room of this knowledge, nor that you will betray us," Harry/Gilderoy added. The Headmaster reluctantly agreed. Minutes later, it was done and their wands restored to their proper places.

Mr. Weasley cleared his throat, uncertain of what to say next. He had never heard of anyone going toe-to-toe with the great Dumbledore and winning. He settled on asking, "Are you sure this is a . . . one of those soul things?"

"You want proof? That's easy to provide," responded Gilderoy jovially, as if the deadly confrontation of a few minutes ago were a disagreement over what tea to serve at supper. "This will be the _second_ one of these I've destroyed in a month."

He turned a steady eye on Dumbledore, "Would you do the honours of providing a shield for everyone over there?" He pointed to one end of the office. Frowning, the Headmaster joined the others and cast a shield over the Weasleys and himself.

Harry/Gilderoy, still holding the diary in his left hand, dropped it to the floor. In one smooth motion, he drew the Goblin knife from his thigh holster with his right hand and rammed it through the diary. He wiggled the knife around trying to spread as much poison as possible.

A scream came from the diary as Harry stepped back with the knife, the Basilisk poison left behind making its way through the diary. Ink poured from the diary in a seemingly endless stream, puddling on the floor. A black smoke rose from the diary, and a face formed that everyone could see was doing the screaming. It spun wildly, looking for escape. Harry whipped his knife blade through the centre of the face parting it into two pieces. The screaming choked to a stop and the cloud dissipated into thin air.

It took most of half-an-hour and several cups of tea to calm the Weasleys.

Molly stared at Gilderoy. "That . . . thing was trying to possess Ginny?"

Gilderoy nodded. "She had no idea that every time she wrote in the diary, telling it of her dreams and her woes, that it stole a bit more of her life-force and soul. It had a powerful compulsion enchantment in it that tricked her into writing in it and then prevented her from stopping." He was not smiling or glossing things over for them, they needed to know what their daughter had done, and what the diary had done to her in turn. "When she slept, he would take over her body and force her to do things, like opening the Chamber of Secrets, killing Hagrid's roosters, writing on the walls in blood, ordering the Basilisk in the Chamber to attack Mrs. Norris and Colin Creevey. He was _in her mind_ , _forcing_ _her to do those things_."

"Basilisk?" questioned the Headmaster.

Gilderoy turned an astonished expression on Dumbledore. "Surely you knew? You've had fifty _years_ to examine the evidence. I figured it out the night the message appeared on the wall. Do you mean to tell me that after fifty years, you _haven't_ figured that out? Is _that_ why you never used your position to clear Hagrid of the accusations against him and restore to him his wand? You actually _believed_ that an Acromantula killed without venom or touching its victim?

"Are you _senile_?" The Headmaster looked furious at the accusation. "I mean, for Merlin's sake, Slytherin's emblem is a snake," Harry continued, "the Basilisk is the only snake that kills with a look. What _else_ could have killed Moaning Myrtle in the First Floor Witches toilets without any injuries? Didn't it cross your mind to _ask her_ how she _died_? Are Miss Granger and I the only ones in this Castle who know how to _think_? Myrtle's description of her death, alone, would have cleared Hagrid!"

The Weasleys were dumbfounded, both at the revelation of what their daughter/sister had done and the accusations of incompetence levelled at the Headmaster. Dumbledore flushed, no one had given him such a dressing down since he was a student in this very institution. And he could say nothing to his defence. If he claimed he hadn't known, then he looked incompetent. If he admitted he knew it was a Basilisk, people would question his motives for both not helping Hagrid _and_ pretending ignorance when the Chamber was reopened at Halloween. And _that_ debacle, unlike this one involving Ginny, he could not sweep under a rug with a Wizard's Oath.

"I thought you knew," Gilderoy continued, "and were merely caught unaware at the creature's reappearance and that you were trying to capture it. If I had thought you didn't know I would have called the Ministry immediately and shut the school down on November 1st before the creature had a chance to slaughter hundreds of students." He shook his head in disbelief. "What did you hope to gain, putting the entire school at risk like that?" Unsaid in all that was his assumption that Dumbledore had allowed Hagrid to suffer all these years without a wand and under a cloud of suspicion — what kind of Leader of the Light would do that?

The Weasleys were staring at the Headmaster in horror and betrayal. Gilderoy had just destroyed their faith in the old Wizard. Never again would they trust his word.

Gilderoy knew that the only good for the Headmaster was that they were unable to tell others of his failings. And hiring Gilderoy Lockhart had to be one of his personally biggest mistakes. He had to be wondering how such an ineffectual and foppish fool could have turned out to be so smart and competent? Harry grinned broadly.

The Headmaster probably thought that now that Gilderoy had destroyed the diary that the Basilisk was locked away with no one to provide instructions. Things would return to normal, just as they had fifty years ago. Except this time there wasn't a new ghost added to the castle who could reveal what had happened.

Harry/Gilderoy took a deep breath. He didn't hate the Headmaster, he just couldn't believe some of the choices the old Wizard had managed to justify over the years. For supposedly one of the cleverest Wizards in generations, he was incredibly blind to the truth at times. He had forgotten his responsibility to the students in pursuit of a nebulous "greater good" that never seemed to materialize for the greater part of the Wizarding community. In fact, his meddling appeared to have been directly involved in creating the disaster that was Harry-future's past. Harry wondered at times who was the greater Dark Lord, Voldewhore or Dumbledore?

"Well," he said, "Now that that's sorted, you should know that your daughter really _needs_ to see a professional Mind Healer, Mr. Weasley. She has had a truly foul Wizard living in her mind and body for months and making her do things that are, well, _evil_. She'll feel guilty, she'll be depressed, and who knows what sort of things that evil Wizard did or revealed to her that a child of her age should never know." Ginny had confessed to him well after leaving Hogwarts the fact that she had had nightmares for years, and occasionally strange and horrifying urges to hurt viciously people who offended her.

"Surely, Gilderoy, you exaggerate the girl's experience?" put in the Headmaster, falling back into his familiar well-meaning grandfather persona. All the Weasleys gave him a look of astonished disbelief that he could say such a thing.

Harry/Gilderoy, surprised, turned and looked at the Headmaster. "Albus, are you a _professional_ Mind Healer? Because only a _professional_ Mind Healer could possibly understand the damage a possession could do to a _child_."

The Headmaster tried to soften that harsh assessment, "Well, I _am_ quite knowledgeable of the mind arts . . . ."

"But do you know _more_ than someone who has _fifty years_ of study doing nothing but studying and working with those whose minds have been damaged by spells and possessions?"

Dumbledore had to admit, "No, probably not."

"Then perhaps we should let a _professional_ Mind Healer make that determination while you work on getting Hagrid a proper wand and allowing him to finish his education."

The Weasley parents shared a long look. Gilderoy could imagine what they were thinking, "how could they possibly afford such a Healer?"

He took a deep calming breath. "Headmaster, I'm not one to meddle in another's business," said the D.A.D.A. professor, "but I really think Hogwarts should take responsibility for the Mind Healer helping Miss Weasley. A solicitor could argue, quite effectively, I imagine, that it is _Hogwarts'_ fault that this deadly Dark artefact wasn't discovered when it first crossed through Hogwarts' protective enchantments."

He continued, "After all, I told you _last week_ I could detect a vile Dark Artefact being carried in the corridors of this school. And if _I_ could detect it, why _couldn't_ the school's protective enchantments?" And the unspoken accusation was 'If I could find it, why couldn't you?'

If looks could kill . . . but the Headmaster wasn't a Basilisk. He sighed and slowly nodded. "Yes, Professor Lockhart, you are correct. The school's protective enchantments _should_ have detected that diary."

From the expression that fleeted across his face, Harry was positive the protective enchantments _had_ detected the Dark Artefact and the Headmaster had just ignored it, as he had all the Dark Artefacts the Slytherin students smuggled into the school.

He turned to the Weasley parents, "Arthur, Molly, I will tell Madam Pomfrey to make the arrangements and have the Mind Healer meet with Miss Weasley in the Hospital Wing for as long as it is necessary, at Hogwarts' expense."

The Weasleys were profuse in their thanks at that "generous" offer. That they knew Lockhart had forced the Headmaster to that decision reinforced the feelings of betrayal they now felt towards the old Wizard. And knew that they would be a staunch supporter of the blonde-haired Wizard, it was the least they could do for his saving the life of their only daughter.


	12. Chapter 12 Date Night

**12\. Date Night**

Headmaster Dumbledore was furious. That dandified popinjay fraud had somehow managed to find and destroy the horcrux diary! Everything had been going along so _marvellously_ , the little Witch had succumbed to its evil and the Basilisk was out. Harry and his friends were on track to solve the puzzle and save the Witch before it was too late. The Headmaster's stepping in at the last minute at save Harry would keep the boy under his influence, building on the fertile ground prepared through the actions of the neglectful Dursleys. The Witch would owe a Life Debt to the little black-haired Wizard, ensuring they became a couple no matter _what_ they wanted. The Weasleys would accept the boy as one of their own and reinforce his control of the boy's destiny by proxy.

And that . . . that _IDIOT_ , had ruined everything! The Weasleys mistrusted him now, and it would take hard work to regain their confidence. And Harry had done nothing! There was no connection between him and the Weasleys, now, except a minor friendship that was falling apart due to the stupid Weasley boy's jealousy.

Luckily, the suddenly competent Wizard hadn't noticed that Harry was the source of the "evil" taint he claimed to detect. And Lockhart's public meddling with the boy only mildly disturbed the old Wizard's master plan. The boy still looked upon the Headmaster as a grandfatherly figure and appeared to mistrust the D.A.D.A. Professor.

In the meantime, he needed a plan to separate the Potter heir from the mud-blood Granger Witch.

(◎_◎)

As Gilderoy had predicted, Madam Pomfrey released Colin Creevey from the infirmary on Monday. Unfortunately, all he had to contribute was that he had heard a noise as if something were sliding on the floor. He had lifted his camera to take a picture of this new event as he turned, and then nothing except two big yellow circles. No one knew that Ginny's "evil-wizard" diary had controlled the Basilisk. And the Weasleys were oath-bound to silence about it. And furious at the Headmaster, Lockhart was pleased to see.

Gilderoy had not so subtly suggested Colin go ask Miss Granger for help. "She'll make a schedule for you to catch up with your classmates, and if you ask nicely she might share her notes from last year in those classes. You'll be caught up in not time. You might have to study some over the hols, but it will be worth it."

He smiled down at the child and handed him a small bag. "I have authorized a thousand Pounds to buy a new camera, at Hogwarts' expense, to replace your damaged camera." The boy's eyes bulged in surprise as he took the bag. "For the best camera and the accessories you can get within that budget."

The boy was still staring at the bag as Gilderoy left the Hospital Wing. That it was Gilderoy giving the boy the bag and not the Headmaster was something the boy wouldn't notice until later. Colin's parents would notice immediately when he told them what had happened.

(◎_⊙)

"So," Gilderoy said triumphantly in his D.A.D.A. classes, "we have another fact about our mysterious monster! It has no feet or Mr. Creevey would have heard steps instead of a sliding sound. Mr. Malfoy, what conclusion do you reach from this?"

"It is definitely a snake."

"Yes," Gilderoy said exuberantly, "It _is_ a snake! Five points, Mr Malfoy." Gilderoy had promised to return the two hundred points he had taken from Malfoy and he intended to keep his promise — he was a Wizard of his word! He would slowly return them in class with easy questions to Draco so no one would question why he had reversed his original penalty.

He smiled expansively, "What _else_ do we know from Mr. Creevey's experience, Mr. Malfoy?"

The boy thought a moment. "He saw the snake through his camera."

"Yes," Gilderoy again cried out, "His camera was what is known as a single-lens reflex camera, which means it uses a _mirror_ to reflect the image to the photographer before he takes a picture. Five points, Mr. Malfoy."

He gazed at the class. "Think children, you have all the evidence you need, now. Slytherin's monster is a snake of some kind. Last time it appeared, it killed a student. This time it petrified a student when he saw it in a mirror. But what about the cat? Why was the cat petrified and not killed?"

There was silence, and then Hermione's face lit up. She had figured it out. She whispered to Harry. He slowly raised his hand.

"Mr. Potter?"

"There was water all over the floor from Moaning Myrtle's toilets. Mrs. Norris saw the _reflection_ of the snake!"

"Smashing! Five points, Miss Granger. And that means the monster must be? Mr. Malfoy?"

"A Basilisk!"

"Yes! You have it! Ten points, Mr. Malfoy."

"Congratulations class!" he said triumphantly. "You have accomplished what the Headmaster and the other so-called adults have failed to do in fifty years with the _same_ evidence! And you did it by _thinking logically_. Logic is rare. Therefore it is upon the _logic_ that you should dwell when faced with a problem."

Then he added conspiratorially, "Don't tell anyone that you know the monster is a Basilisk until after the hols start. Some of my other classes haven't figured it out yet. Hmm? Okay?"

They all nodded.

"Excellent! Now open you books to page . . . ."

(⊙_◎)

Gildroy opened his door to Ron. "Ah, excellent! Right on time. Come in, my boy." He stepped aside to allow entry. The redhead stood uncertainly, staring dismally at the pile of photographs and envelopes on the desk.

"Did you bring your pet, as I asked?" Gilderoy raised an eyebrow in query.

"Uh, yes, sir." The boy started digging in a pocket and a moment later held up the somnolent rat. "Why . . . ."

The boy got no further as the Wizard unleashed a stupefy on both the rat and the boy, catching them with a wave of his wand. He guided the boy to the chair and left him slumped there. The rat ended up on his desk. Gilderoy quickly cleared his desk and cast the spell forcing the animagus back into his human form. He carefully put three drops of veritaserum in the man's mouth, and then _ennervated_ him. He spent the next four hours carefully quizzing the man on everything he remembered about the identities of Death Wizards and other Voldemort supporters.

Then he hid the man under a disillusionment charm. He pulled out a rat he had previously acquired and spelled to look like Scabbers. He dropped _that_ rat in the boy's pocket. An _ennervate_ followed by a _confundo_ brought the boy awake with the impression that he had spent the last four hours addressing letters and no recollection of any inquiries or requests about his pet rat. The rat would behave just as Scabbers used to do, sleeping most of the day and night. It had a spell on it preventing it from wandering away from wherever the boy left it.

Once the boy had left for his dorm, Gilderoy returned to his interrogation of the rat-faced Wizard. By the time he was ready to "find" the evil Wizard in second term, Harry/Gilderoy would have a very good understanding of the Dark Lord's financial backing, supporters, and hideouts.

The hideouts he would raid, clean out everything useful, then them burn to the ground. The financial supporters he would bankrupt, one way or another. The others, well, he would figure out a way to remove their influence.

(⊙_⊙)

Just as it had happened in Harry's previous life, the Headmaster approved Gilderoy's request for a Duelling Club. Thursday night, December 17th, most of the student body appeared to check it out, carrying their wands and looking excited. At Lockhart's request, Professors McGonagall, Flitwick, Snape, and Sinistra attended, as well. Flitwick, a former duelling champion agreed to act as a referee in the duels, and coach the students in how to do so.

The Headmaster had transformed the Great Hall. The long dining tables had vanished and a golden stage had appeared along one wall, lit by thousands of candles floating overhead.

Gilderoy, grinning broadly, walked onto the stage, resplendent in robes of deep plum. A scowling Snape, wearing his usual black, followed him.

Lockhart waved an arm for silence and called, "Gather round, gather round! Can everyone see me? Can you all hear me? Excellent!

"Now, Professor Dumbledore has granted me permission to start this little duelling club, to train you all in case you ever need to defend yourselves as I myself have done on countless occasions — for full details, see my published works.

"Let me introduce my assistant, Professor Snape," said Lockhart, flashing a wide smile. Snape sneered at him. Gilderoy knew that referring to him as his assistant irritated the Wizard. "He tells me he knows a tiny little bit about duelling himself and has sportingly agreed to help me with a short demonstration before we begin. Now, I don't want any of you youngsters to worry — you'll still have your Potions master when I'm through with him, never fear!" He posed dramatically and listened as those closest to the stage murmured that they really _wouldn't_ miss that particular Wizard all that much.

Lockhart turned to face Snape and both bowed. Well, at least, Lockhart did. Snape merely jerked his head irritably. Then they raised their wands like swords in front of them.

"As you see, we are holding our wands in the accepted combative position, notice how were stand sideways to each other to provide the smallest target profile to our opponent," Lockhart told the silent crowd. "On the count of three, we will cast our first spells. Neither of us will be aiming to kill, of course."

Snape bared his teeth at Lockhart. For some reason he seemed offended that the seemingly foppish and lackadaisical Wizard was as competent as he had appeared this last month.

"One — two — three —"

Both of them swung their wands above their heads and then pointed them at their opponent. Snape cried, "Expelliarmus!" There was a dazzling flash of scarlet light. Lockhart tried not to snicker as he sidestepped the spell. He held up his hand in a motion to halt the duel. Snape looked more furious than before.

"Notice how I did _not_ attempt to block the spell! Instead I conserved my magical strength by letting it pass me harmlessly," he explained. "Many duels go _not_ to the Wizard with the most power or the one who knows the most spells, but to the Wizard who uses his strength sparingly and allows his opponent to wear himself down, and then takes advantage of any mistakes." He smiled tauntingly at the Potions professor. "Again, Professor Snape."

The students watched, stunned, as the two Wizards appeared to dance as their spells flew across the platform. Before the meeting, the two had exchanged a list of spells they would restrict themselves to, nothing a Fourth Year student did not know. As a result, the students heard many of the spells they knew.

Gilderoy emerged triumphant. While Professor Snape had spent several years duelling with Death Eaters, for the last ten he had only taught potions — he was rusty. Harry/Gilderoy, on the other hand, had spent the last five years in almost daily deadly battle. At the end of the first ten seconds, Professor Snape knew that Gilderoy could take him down at any time, and that he was prolonging the fight to provide the students with an exhibition of his talent. It infuriated the Death Eater, who sorely wanted to wipe that maddening lazy grin from the other professor's face, but knew he daren't resort to the more deadly spells he knew. And if he did, just what deadly spells did the fop know? Snape had never dreamed that the twit was better at duelling than himself.

It was a jelly-legs spell that started his downfall. A mere misstep, then the leg-locker spell, the _langlock_ , followed by a simple _Accio_. Professor Snape glared at Gilderoy.

"You see, it takes only a moment's lapse in concentration to lose a duel." He _finited_ the spells on Snape.

"Let's see how the Witches handle duels, shall we? Professor Sinistra and Professor McGonagall? How about a demonstration?" He stepped off the platform to the floor.

Shortly after the excited urgings of the students, the two Witches were at either end of the platform, glaring half-heartedly at the dandy for putting them on the spot. Gilderoy and Snape watched as the two women exchanged salvos of spells, dodging and blocking as needed. As they applauded Sinistra's win, Gilderoy said loudly, "Ah, Professor Snape, I do believe it might be educational for the two us to challenge the ladies to a Doubles Duel."

Before the other could object, he mounted the steps to the platform and said, "Excellent show, ladies, excellent! Now children," he turned and addressed his audience, posing dramatically. "Not all duels are fought on a one-to-one basis, and in real life it is wise to remember that others might be about on the field that you need to watch. So, ladies," he turned to the two women still panting a bit from their exercise, "What would you say to quick Doubles Duel, Wizards against Witches?"

The two stared at him while Snape positively glared.

"Excellent, I knew you would agree." He ploughed over any chance they might have had to object, taking their surprised silence for assent.

"Now, then, children. As you all know, Professor McGonagall is an expert at transfigurations, and that last duel rather unfairly handicapped her by restricting her to Fourth Year or below spells — she couldn't really _use_ her talents. So, for the Doubles Duel the only restrictions will be no Dark Spells."

The Hall buzzed with excitement as the students happily anticipated seeing such an unusual duel.

"Come, come, Professor Snape," Lockhart said, waving the scowling man to the platform. As the Wizard reluctantly climbed the steps, the D.A.D.A. Professor said, "We'll make this simple, the first team to incapacitate one of the other team, or to deprive one of them of his or her wand shall be the winner." He paused just long enough to get a nod from the women. "And to make it a bit more fun, the losing team shall treat the other team to a supper date at The Three Broomsticks this Friday," Gilderoy managed to pop out before Harry could stop him. The students burst into cheers and laughter, making it impossible for the other three to decline without looking petulant.

Moments later, the four were at battle. Gilderoy started things off with a quick _avis_ to provide McGonagall with some ammunition. After that, he merely tried to stay out of the way, using his shield far more than he had with Snape. Snape was clearly unused to working with a teammate and thus tried to focus on one opponent expecting Gilderoy to do the same. The ladies had quickly cottoned to the idea of teamwork and Minerva worked primarily on defence while Aurora worked on offense. Gilderoy worked mostly defence and only occasionally attacked, making it just a matter of time before Aurora hit Severus with a spell and putting him out of the competition.

Laughing delightedly, Gilderoy said, "Excellent show ladies, excellent! So, Professor Snape and I shall meet you in the Entryway at, say, seven tomorrow evening?"

Blushing slightly, the two women quickly assented. Snape was scowling worse than ever. "Tut, tut, Severus, we just won a date with two lovely Witches, you should be _smiling_ ," he said as he _finited_ the hex on the other. The closer students, overhearing what he had said, snickered, making the Potions Professor's scowl deepen.

With the Headmaster's assistance, they quickly divided the students into rows facing each other, with protection enchantments behind each row. They then had the students practice shielding and using a jelly-legs hex. Gilderoy said, "Any student using a spell _other_ than jelly-legs will spend a detention with Mr. Filch!" With that injunction, the next hour passed quickly as the professors helped the students master techniques. Afterwards, Gilderoy happily announced that the duelling club would meet every Thursday. The students dispersed to their dorms, tired and excited over what they had learned.

The next evening Gilderoy had almost to drag Professor Snape from his dungeon office. "I did not agree to a date, Professor Lockhart! This is entirely _your_ fault." His scowl, if anything was worse than the day before. "I have no interest in a tea date!"

"Come, come, Severus," Gilderoy said with a beaming smile. "It's just a little get together with a couple of our feminine associates here at Hogwarts. A little chance to let our hair down and have a good time without the worries of students, grading, or schedules. Who _knows_ what might happen?"

Snape stopped dead in the corridor. "Are you mad?" he demanded, eyes narrowed as he stared at the D.A.D.A. professor.

"Not at all, not at all. I'm just looking for a bit of fun and relaxation, and a tea with two lovely Witches should do just that," Gilderoy replied complacently. He frowned and turned to face the other Wizard. "Unless . . . you prefer the company of Wizards?" He watched with a self-satisfied smile as Snape's eyes widened at the implication. "If you'd really rather not meet with our dates for the night, I'd be quite happy to tender your apologies and say that you are unable to accompany us due to unforeseen requirements on your potion-making abilities. I'm sure they would understand that providing an emergency potion to St. Mungos would take priority over supper." He winked at the increasingly furious Wizard, "I won't mention the real reason, of course. That would be gauche."

Snape's hand twitched towards his wand pocket. "I do _not_ prefer the company of Wizards," he ground out through clenched teeth.

"Excellent!" He positively beamed happiness at the other. "I did not like to think I had made such a grievous error in your proclivities. I'm sure the ladies will be _most_ pleased to see us." He turned and headed down the corridor. God, it felt great to take the micky out of that stuck-up prat. He could almost _see_ the steam coming out of the Wizard's ears.

They arrived at the Entry Hall only a few minutes before the ladies did. Tea in the Great Hall was usually over by seven at the latest, and there were an unusual number of students hanging about. Gilderoy loved an audience, but it was rather clear this audience, mostly Witches, were here to spy on their professors. While he didn't care, he couldn't let things stand as they were — the ladies might not like the obvious voyeuristic aspects of their students.

"Ah, children, how nice to see you all," he paused and bestowed a brilliant smile upon the gathered students. A number of the Witches sighed. "But you shouldn't loiter in the Entry Hall . . . don't you have homework assignments? I'm sure I remembered giving out an assignment in my marvellous Defence Against Dark Arts class." With a disappointed, "aw. . . ," the Hall cleared out remarkably quickly. A few of the smarter Witches went back into the Great Hall and peeked around the edges of the two doors.

Gilderoy was sure the two ladies understood why they passed a large stream of students, mostly Witches, suddenly leaving the area of the Great Hall.

While the two women were not dressed to the nines, they were dressed in non-school robes open at the fronts over flattering dresses. Harry was startled to realize that both women had a fair amount of cleavage and didn't mind showing it.

Gilderoy was, of course, the best dressed of the quartet while Snape was the worst. Not that he was wearing old or worn robes, they were nice, just not _that_ nice. One got the feeling he didn't usually need anything other than school robes and so had a very small selection in his closet. That his hair looked like someone had dumped a vat of grease on it didn't help his appearance any. Snape had sneeringly refused to use any of the hair products Gilderoy had recommended earlier in the day to tame the Potions Professor's stringy hair.

Lockhart had reserved two tables for the couples, close enough together that they could talk if they wished, yet not so close as to preclude a private conversation should either couple desire it. He steered Minerva to one table, leaving Snape to seat Sinistra. They had a lovely lamb, with wine. Gilderoy discovered that Minerva had once been married. "No, really?" he said in surprise.

"Really." She smiled sadly. "I used to work for the Ministry and became quite close with my boss, Elphinstone Urquart. He was quite brilliant, and handsome, too." She momentarily put her hand on Gilderoy's, eyes sparkling. She sat back. "I was . . . dissatisfied with the way the Ministry worked and when Albus offered me a position at Hogwarts, I readily accepted." She stopped and took a drink of her wine. "Elp visited frequently and during one visit, he proposed." She paused and smiled, remembering. "I said no. I was still in love with Dougal McGregor." She sighed softly. "I met Doug after I graduated, but he was a Muggle and I just couldn't see giving up magic. I thought that was the end of my love life."

She shook her head. "But Elp was persistent. In 1981 Doug died in an accident." She looked down at the table. "That summer Elp proposed again during a summertime stroll around the lake here at Hogwarts. We were married in 1982 and bought a cottage in Hogsmeade, which I still have, actually. I rent it out." She was silent for a few minutes. "I was very happy. We were very happy. Then, three years later, Elp died from a bite by a Venomous Tentacula." She sat reminiscing silently for a few minutes. Gilderoy left her to it. Harry and Gilderoy had learned more about their Transfigurations Professor in the past ten minutes than in the entire combined thirteen years they had spent at Hogwarts.

Gilderoy studied the woman. She had been singularly unlucky in love. On the other hand, his experience over the years had taught him that widows were much more appreciative of his attentions than the younger Witches. The younger ones expected to capture his heart and live a life of adventure with plenty of galleons to spend. The widows were more . . . grounded. They had security in their jobs or estates. They were not looking to hand over control of their lives to a Wizard. They had far more freedom if they stayed . . . unattached.

Harry was not a virgin — you can't make it through seven years of war without giving in to base desires. Knowing either or both might be dead by that time the next day added urgency to temporary relationships as both attempted to forget their near-death experience hours before in a celebration of life. A few times, he had not even known the Witch's name, although they always seemed to know his.

But! McGonagall?

Fortunately, while Harry took over in matters dealing with conflict, Gilderoy had vastly more experience in dealing with Witches. And after three glasses of wine, Harry's resistance to Gilderoy's manipulations was not very determined.

Minerva looked up, "Well, Gilderoy, I must say you have done well for yourself since graduating."

Gilderoy smiled broadly, using a bit of Harry's magic to move his hair a bit as if in a breeze. He was all set to launch into a long-winded description, undoubtedly boring, of his books when Harry stomped down on him. He was not going to let Gilderoy make a fool of him in front of his favourite professor!

"Please, call me Gil, Minerva. And, yes, I'm not nearly as much a prat as I was in Hogwarts ten years ago. I've changed. While I love to see my name in print, there are more important things than that."

She arched her eyebrows in surprise.

"To tell you the truth, I think I've personally accomplished _more_ since I started teaching here at Hogwarts than anything I did since I graduated." His smile softened. "Nothing I've done before can match Mr. Longbottom's expression when he launched that magnificent _patronus_ in the Great Hall. Nor the smile on Miss Lovegood's face when she's with her friends at the Gryffindor table." He paused a moment, his lips quirking into a smirk. "And Miss Granger's expressions when Miss Lovegood starts talking about Nargles or Crumple-Horned Snorkacks are just too amusing."

He noticed his tea partner suppressing a smile.

"And the Defence Against Dark Arts classes! I think you'll see the scores at year's end for all the students to be their highest in forty years. Did you see last night that _all_ the First, Second, Third, and Fourth year students can cast the _Protego_ and hold it for at least five seconds? On September First, only _some_ of the Fourth Year students could do that. One of my goals this year is to have all the Fourth Year and above students cast a _Patronus_. Maybe not corporeal, but better than just a mist.

"Love is the key to the _Patronus_ , you know. _Not_ happiness. A key mistake in teaching that's been happening for a thousand years. Can you imagine?" He shook his head.

"The muggles have a saying, Minerva, 'Give a man a fish and he will eat for a day, teach a man to fish and he will eat every day.' That's what I'm doing with my class. I'm teaching an entire generation how to _survive_. And should Voldemort return, or another Dark Lord appear, we shan't have a bunch of spineless timid mice demanding a half-blood pre-teen save them."

"For Merlins sake, each and every Wizard and Witch is carrying a _deadly_ weapon! A dozen Death Eaters appear in Diagon Alley with a hundred Wizards shopping there. If all the Wizards pulled out their wands and shouted _stupefy_ , the Death Eaters would all be captured! Instead, they scream, run, and end up dead. Half the people in my books could have saved _themselves_ if they only took two seconds to think and used their wands!"

He leaned back in his chair. "Sorry, I didn't mean to get preachy."

She was staring at him in disbelief. "What happened to you, Gil? I remember you in my classes, and you were nothing like this." She shook her head. "You were a terrible student, to tell the truth. If you couldn't see a way for a spell to bring you attention, you didn't study it." Her eyes narrowed as she stared at him. "The Gilderoy _I_ knew could never have handled those two duels as well as you did. Nor taught a class with nearly the skill that you have. You're like a completely different person."

He shifted uncomfortably. She was hitting far too close to the mark. He glanced over at Sinistra and Snape. They were engrossed in their food, Snape sullenly attacking it as if it had cast aspersions upon his mother's fidelity and Sinistra eating daintily but seemingly miffed at her date's lack of conversation. Perhaps she was listening, to them. Perhaps not.

Softly, so that only Minerva could hear, he said, "I met Mr. Potter this summer. You may recall an article in _The Daily Prophet_ about how I found him in Flourish and Blotts, and then mysteriously collapsed?"

She nodded, intrigued.

"Something happened. Something touched me. I daren't say more because people _would_ think I am quite mad." He paused, thinking. He hadn't considered telling anyone about what he was doing. He should be able to do it all himself, but what if there was an accident? He sighed.

"I am not a Seer. It is far too a fuzzy discipline with results that are impossible to analyse with any certainty. While a few gifted individuals can foresee the future, what they see is usually so muddy they cannot explain, and only _after_ the events come to pass do we see how their predictions applied. Bu that day, in Flourish and Blotts, I _saw_ things.

"What I learned, I am still coming to terms with. Terrible times are coming if I do not act. It forced me . . . to reconsider my goals. I spent the last few weeks of the summer revising my . . . experiences." He smiled ruefully at her. "I paid far more attention in class than you professors credited me with. It's just that I didn't see the practical applications of what I knew, so I didn't attempt to impress you with my skills."

He looked up at the ceiling for a moment. "Last year was just a precursor, Minerva, the Troll, the dead Unicorns, Quirrell's possession," he said softly.

"Did the Headmaster tell you about the diary?" She nodded. "That it was aimed at Mr. Potter?" She frowned at that. Perhaps he hadn't made the connection. "That the monster in the Chamber of Secrets, if unchecked, would have sought him out and brought him to the brink of death, _just like Quirrell did last year._ Did the Headmaster tell you that the creature in the Chamber is a Basilisk? That it uses the pipes in the walls and floors to move around the school? That it is still _there_?"

He watched her expressions sift from interested, to surprised, to horrified.

"And if you ask the Headmaster about the Basilisk, he will tell you all is well. That the creature is trapped in the Chamber, just as it was fifty years ago. That Hogwarts is the safest place in the world. How can that be true, though?

"Harry Potter almost _died_ four times last year. Any school where the protective enchantments fail to detect the presence of Voldewhore is not what I would call safe — would you? The diadem that I recovered was another version of him, one hidden in Hogwarts for over _fifty years_. Hidden _in_ Hogwarts. For _fifty years_.

"This year, yet _another_ Dark artefact carrying a version of Voldewhore made it _through_ the protective enchantments undetected, carried into the school in her robes. Only one student was petrified, unlike the _last_ time someone claimed to have opened the Chamber when it killed Miss Warren. But I do not doubt that by June Mr. Potter would have found himself in a life-or-death struggle with that version of Tom Riddle, Lord Voldemort, if I had not interfered. Can you still call the school the safest place in the England? And what about next year? What horrible disaster is waiting in the wings? Are there going to be flocks of Dementors surrounding the school? Or perhaps a Death Eater whom everyone thinks is dead becomes the D.A.D.A. Professor disguised as a retired Auror?"

She shuddered at each mention of the Dark Lord's name.

"And there is _still_ an evil Wizard concealed within Hogwarts, even as I speak."

She gave him a startled look.

He nodded. "Yes, there is. And I don't mean Professor Snape, either! I shall find him, just you watch. Gilderoy Lockhart's name will grace the front page yet again! And everyone will ask, 'How can Hogwarts be the safest place in England if an evil Wizard, one with the Dark Mark on his arm, can live there, year after year, _without_ being detected? How is _that_ safe for our children?'" He shook his head sadly, and then looked up at her beaming proudly, "But, never fear, for Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defence League, five-time winner of _Witch Weekly's_ Most-Charming-Smile Award, and Hogwarts' beloved Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor is here! _I_ will make Hogwarts the safest place in England!

"I found the missing Ravenclaw Diadem, I found Tom Riddle's diary possessing a student, I bought the mandrakes to cure the petrified student six months early, I will find the vile Wizard hiding in Hogwarts, and I will deal with the Basilisk so it can never again threaten the students!"

She stared at him for a long time, then smiled. "I think I _like_ this new version of Gilderoy." By the time they finished dessert, and another glass of wine, things between them were much friendlier.

The carriage ride back to the school was quiet. Lockhart could tell that Snape had bollixed his part of the date, as Sinistra looked unhappy. He would have to make it up to her later.

To his surprise, Minerva, or 'Min' as she asked him to call her, invited him inside her apartment for a nightcap of a small Fire Whisky. "If you tell anyone that I invited you in tonight, I'll make your time here in the castle a living hell," she said softly, finishing hers only moments after he had his.

Gilderoy had grinned happily. "Min, in all the times you've seen me in the newsparchments have you _ever_ seen a story about me with a Witch? Or even a rumour? Maybe the mention of someone I dated once or twice, but never anything more." He scooted closer to her on the couch, "There's a reason for that. I am extremely discrete." He didn't add that he found the _obliviate_ charm worked quite well the next morning, leaving his conquests with the idea that they had a wonderful time the night before but just weren't quite sure with whom. Not that he would be doing _that_ anymore.

She stared at him through lidded eyes, "I'm not looking for anything beyond tonight."

"Neither am I. I've never been monogamous. If you wish, we can be — how do the muggles say it? Ah, yes — friends with benefits, for as long or short a time as you desire. And I will have other friends as well, just so you know. In any case, I'm sure the curse will have me out of here in June, anyway."

She chuckled drily, "There is that."

Gilderoy demonstrated to Harry that he did indeed have skills when it came to women — that it wasn't just that he _oblivated_ the women of any bad feelings they might have had when dawn arrived. Min had nothing to complain about the next morning. And she was just as appreciative of his attentions as most lonely widowed women were. And she had a beautiful smile that took decades off her appearance.

And Harry Potter? He had an average Friday night playing Exploding Snap with Neville, Colin, Hermione, Luna, Susan, and Hannah.


	13. Chapter 13 Spelunking

_2016/7/19 - Fixed typo_

 **13\. Spelunking**

Gilderoy watched as the Hogwarts Express disappeared down the tracks. The students, at least those going home for the holidays, were finally out of his way. He had a busy set of hols ahead, and having constantly to dodge inquisitive children would be problematic. And the staff would be wrapped up in end-of-term paperwork and watching for problems on the train, especially the Headmaster.

By tomorrow, the parents would hear about the Chamber of Secrets monster being a Basilisk. By Wednesday, the word would spread to their friends. They would think their children had exaggerated the situation, but the story would linger as gossip. Christmas would interfere a bit in that dissemination of news, but after Boxing Day, he believed the public would be more receptive to the revelation of his exploits. Yes, it was a perfect plan — the children unknowingly providing the groundwork for his headlines. Next Monday would provide a perfect headline to end the year. Everyone would be talking about Lockhart and the Basilisk at _all_ the New Year's Parties. He expected invitations to many of those parties.

But in the meantime, he had work to do. He returned to the Castle.

"Mr. Potter," he said, catching the boy as he left the Great Hall after a late breakfast. Harry and Hermione, the only ones in Gryffindor staying for the holidays, had slept late, taking advantage of the fact the rest of the students were in a hurry to go home.

Fortunately, Ginny's situation had called for the entire Weasley family to return home for the hols, even Charlie and Bill from overseas. Harry/Gilderoy had insisted, not so subtly, that Arthur take the generous bag of galleons he had forced into Wizard's hands and use it to have the best Christmas they had ever had. "This," he had said, "is merely a _down payment_ on what the school owes you for your daughter's suffering and healing." He paused watching the man's reaction. "Mr. Weasley, if you are hurt on the job, does not the Ministry pay the Healer's bills for you as well as your regular salary even though you cannot work?" The man nodded frowning. "Well, consider this to be the same thing for your daughter. It is not charity, but the least that Hogwarts can do to apologize for the _Headmaster's_ failure to protect your child." Reluctantly, the Weasley patriarch had agreed. So, Ginny, Ron, Fred, George, and Percy were all absent this Christmas.

"Come with me Harry, I have need of your _special_ talents," Gilderoy said.

Harry looked at Hermione, shrugged, and said, "Sure."

"Excellent!" Gilderoy smiled happily. "With your help, we're going to see something that few have _ever_ seen before and _lived_ to tell the tale. Walk this way!" He turned and jauntily started walking. The two children followed him with justifiably worried expressions.

He stopped. "No, Harry," he said, faking exasperation with his hands elegantly on his hips, "Walk _this_ way!" He demonstrated his jaunty confident walk and drilled the poor boy until he had it down right. Hermione watched with wide eyes, her fear of point's loss or a detention all that prevented her from laughing aloud at her friend's predicament, and Professor Lockhart. Gilderoy grinned widely as Harry attempted to stop himself from rolling his eyes at each repetition.

Once Gilderoy was satisfied with Harry's confident appearance, he turned to Hermione. "Now it's your turn, my dear." She stared at him like a deer caught in a Lorry's headlamps. It was Harry's turn to suppress his laughter as the Professor put her through the paces.

He told her, "I once asked my mum why she swayed so as she walked when others didn't. She told me, 'Honey, if your wrist doesn't hit your hip as you walk, you aren't walking right!' So, my dear, let's see you do it right!"

As she took a few steps, he said, "You'll feel horribly self-conscious, at first, thinking you look absolutely ridiculous, but after you make it a habit it will look quite gracious indeed!" He made her practice it for several minutes, walking up and down the corridor. It was difficult, really it was, not to burst out laughing at the two kids as they tried to follow his directions.

Finally, he led them on a circuitous route through the Castle, nattering on about his books and popularity, pausing when they were no longer in sight of paintings, sculptures, or armours. First, he cast a quick detection spell, explaining what it was and how it worked, and then removed all the tracking and listening charms on the two students. Both were suitably outraged at him finding the charms — he didn't mention that one on each of them was his. He not so subtly suggested Hermione learn the detection charms and begin a regular regimen of removing what they found. Second, he cast a disillusionment charm on both and had them follow him to their destination, admonishing them to keep practicing their walks even though none could see them. One wanted the way they walked to be an unconscious habit, didn't one?

When he stopped outside Moaning Myrtle's First Floor Toilets, Gilderoy could almost feel their sudden panic. Was he about to reveal their Polyjuice Potion and demand answers?

He swept inside and halted in front of the very stall in which the cauldron was simmering. Dobby was keeping an eye on it behind the scenes to make sure the potion turned out properly. There was even a supply in Lockhart's office to switch out the contents of the cauldron in case Hermione's potion was substandard. So far, it was nearly perfect.

He dismissed the disillusionment charm and frowned down at them, increasing their obvious agitation. Both Gryffindors were staring at him, pale and wide-eyed, anticipating a severe dressing down.

He smiled at them, and turned to face the sink. "Have you discussed with Moaning Myrtle how she died?" He had hinted enough times during Harry's detentions that they should have managed to do that by now. He would be so disappointed if they hadn't. He watched them from the corners of his eyes as they relaxed ever so slightly.

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Then you know that I'd like you to say 'open' in Parseltongue, right Mr. Potter?"

The boy started sweating and turned to stare at the sink. He wet his lips with his tongue. "Um, I need to see a snake."

"Look closely at the tap," Gilderoy said, "I think you'll see one embossed on it. If that is insufficient, close your eyes and picture a snake in your mind's eye." He tapped the special crystal in his pocket, recording what Harry said. Now that he, as Gilderoy Lockhart, officially couldn't speak or understand Parseltongue, he needed another way to gain entry whenever he wanted in. The recording crystal would hide his Parseltongue ability. That it could record vibrations as well as sound made it perfect for his needs.

Moments later, the sink and wall had moved to reveal the entrance. A rank musty odor wafted out at them.

"This, my dears, is the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets." He looked into the inky blackness of the long tunnel. He pointed his wand inside and said, " _SCOURGIFY!_ " A bright light swept down the pipe before them, leaving a gleaming clean surface. "There now, that's better." He didn't want to get his clothes messed up with that gunk lining the pipe. He pulled three small items out of his pocket and restored them to their normal size — brooms. He handed one to each of them.

"Follow my lead, we're not in a real hurry here. Don't worry about the Basilisk. I, Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defence League, five-time winner of _Witch Weekly's_ Most-Charming-Smile Award, and your beloved Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor shall ensure you are at all times safe and secure!" He could see them trying to prevent themselves from rolling their eyes. "Besides, I'm sure it's asleep right now." He watched as they got on their brooms, Harry confidently and Hermione gingerly, and slowly followed him into the pipe. He started down, his wand lit with _lumos_ to light their way. "At least, I _hope_ it is," he said loudly before plummeting down. He thought he heard a panicked " _Eep!_ " from Hermione as his _Follow-Me_ spell dragged their brooms behind him.

They didn't travel nearly as fast as he had originally, but still probably too fast for Hermione's comfort considering her anxiety regarding broom-riding. Still, he was rather surprised that it seemed to take as long as it did. He had always assumed his half-panicked slide had distorted his sense of time. Apparently not. He rather thought that there were stairs built into the pipe as he couldn't see Tom taking the inelegant slide every time, but the slide, and riding broomsticks, was so much faster. And fun.

Trying to go down, and back up, over a thousand feet or more of stairs as they led under the lake to the Chamber was _not_ something he would want to do! Not when there was such a fun way to do it instead.

The corridor was just as filthy and disgusting as he remembered. And the smell was enough to knock you over. Three quick _Bubble-head_ charms fixed that problem, though. Hermione and Harry were quite relieved.

For a moment, he considered cleaning the messy floor, but decided it would be better to leave the skeletal debris for the atmosphere it gave their expedition. Yes, he could work with this, " _the disturbing crunching of bones under my feet accompanied every step I took as I progressed down the dimly lit tunnel under the lake. Who knew where the dreaded monster was hiding, waiting, perhaps, to kill us without warning._ " It also would give Bozo a photo opportunity and added a realism to his book that the others lacked.

"Ew, ew, ew," Hermione said when she realized what was crunching with her every step. She looked at the broom in her hand, then the floor, and then hopped back on the broom. Some things were just too gross. Harry followed her lead. Gilderoy considered, then did the same. He'd leave that part out, though. He had the feel of it, but now he didn't want to dirty his robes and shoes with it any more than he had to.

They moved much faster this way and soon came into sight of the tremendous shed snakeskin.

"Blimey!" Harry said in a whisper, awed, after gulping. Hermione just stared, wide-eyed.

"Just think, children, the Basilisk is even bigger than _that_ , now." He savoured the horrified looks they gave him. With them as witnesses, none would be able to gainsay what happened down here. "Never fear, though, for I, Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defence League, five-time winner of _Witch Weekly's_ Most-Charming-Smile Award, and Hogwarts' beloved Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor, will keep you both as safe as if you were in your beds in your dormitories!" From their expressions, he could tell that they dearly wished they _were_ in their dormitories and _in_ their beds — preferably under the covers! They were too scared even to roll their eyes at his ridiculously long self-description. Ah, well, onward!

A minute later, they approached the wall blocking the tunnel. On it, as Harry remembered, were the two entwined snakes with green gems for eyes that seemed to turn to watch their every move.

"Behold," Gilderoy swept his arm dramatically, posing in front of them. "The Chamber of Secrets!" he intoned dramatically.

Harry audibly gulped. A faint whimper came from Hermione.

"There really is nothing to fear, my children," the Wizard said consolingly. "The Basilisk is sleeping and _completely_ harmless at the moment, and _I, Gilderoy Lockhart,_ et cetera, et cetera," he said, "am here to protect you." He turned to Harry. "Now, Harry, listen closely. When I give you this signal," he pointed his right-hand index finger at the boy, "I want you to say ' _open'_ to the snakes embossed on this wall. It will split in the middle and open. I will look inside the Chamber to see if the Basilisk is in his sleeping den or on the floor. If the Basilisk _isn't_ in the Chamber, you and I will walk inside a short ways. When I give this signal," he again pointed at the boy, but this time using his right-hand index and middle fingers spread in a "V", "loudly say, ' _Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts four_.' Understand?" Hand signals would prevent them from noticing his voice wavering when it came to action time.

Harry licked his lips, and nodded nervously.

"Give it a practice try, Harry."

He did.

"Then turn and _walk quickly_ back to here and _close the wall_. You and Hermione wait out here until I yell to open the doors, and then you can open them again by saying 'open,' okay?"

The boy reluctantly nodded again.

Gilderoy made him repeat the summoning phrase several times until he said it perfectly.

"Finally — listen carefully, both of you — if I don't signal you to open the doors in a reasonable amount of time, say ten minutes, _go get the Headmaster_!"

After exchanging a look, they both nodded fearfully.

"Excellent." Gilderoy pulled out the glasses he had made. He had taken four right-angle prisms, each long enough to stretch from the tip of his thumb to the tip of his little finger when he spread his fingers as wide as possible, and arranged the prisms into a double periscope, one reversing the other.

If seeing a single reflection reduced the death glare of the Basilisk to mere petrification, then using four reflections should make it completely harmless. The first prism reflected up to the second, the second reflected to the third, the third reflected back down to the fourth, which reflected into his eyes. He used magic to shape the four into a pair of wrap-around glasses only an eighth of an inch thick. The glasses looked somewhat odd with the top two prisms completely hiding his eyebrows, but they worked just fine. As an additional protection, the prisms only reflected red light and infrared (also known as heat). Everything else they ignored, meaning he never saw anything but reflected heat rays, and red light, converted up to normal eyesight range.

Muggle scientists had discovered, Gilderoy knew, that the higher frequency you went in light, the more damage it did to you, hence why people used sunscreen at the beach to protect themselves from ultraviolet (beyond blue) sunlight. Gilderoy assumed that the Basilisk's deadly vision was the same sort of situation. At a worst case, only the reflections would protect him. He hoped.

They had taken some getting used to, everything was shades of red, but they worked. That was all that mattered. Whether they worked the way he wanted them to, though, was another thing entirely.

He put them on and took a deep breath. It was show time, but a very different kind than normal. He pointed his finger at Harry.

Harry hissed at the wall.

He recorded the boy's command on another crystal. If the wall was soundproof he didn't want to be trapped inside!

The wall split and slowly slid open, accompanied by the sound of stone sliding across stone, the floor shuddering slightly. As it did, Gilderoy motioned the two frightened students to move against the sidewall as the one in front of them moved. They could not see into the Chamber. He, on the other hand, looked carefully inside as the wall opened.

He was standing at the end of a very long, dimly lit chamber. Towering stone pillars entwined with carved serpents rose to support a ceiling lost in darkness, casting long, black shadows through the odd, greenish gloom that filled the place. There was no sign of the snake. The Chamber was just as it had appeared in his time.

He walked cautiously forward between the serpentine columns. Every careful footstep echoed loudly off the shadowy walls. The hollow eye sockets of the stone snakes seemed to be following him. He could hear water droplets splashing to the floor, eerily echoing. It was just as spooky as he remembered it being. "This . . . this is _splendid_! Even better then I remembered," Gilderoy whispered to himself.

At the last pair of pillars, a statue as high as the Chamber itself loomed into view, standing against the back wall. Salazar, when Gilderoy tilted his head back, was just as ugly as he remembered: a face that was ancient and monkeyish, with a long, thin beard that fell almost to the bottom of the wizard's sweeping stone robes, where two enormous grey feet stood on the smooth Chamber floor. Rather full of himself, he had been, Gilderoy thought. And he could appreciate that! He considered how imposing such a statue would appear in the entry hall of his Mansion.

The Wizard turned and headed back to the kids. "Okay, Harry, Hermione, it's safe to come in," he called out.

The two peered around the protruding bump that marked the retracted wall.

He waved them inside, smiling broadly and exuding confidence. "Come, come, look!"

With no small amount of awe, the two students carefully crept into the Chamber.

"Note the pillars and how the snakes' creepy eyes seem to follow you as you walk," he said.

The two huddled together as they joined him.

"Come, come, see this," he said, acting like a tour guide in London, "Walk this way." He suppressed the urge to sway his hips and adopt a mincing walk — they were too scared to appreciate the comedic aspects of his request at this point.

"That," he said as the came to the end of the columns, "is Salazar Slytherin. Not exactly a stunningly handsome fellow, wouldn't you agree?" Gilderoy shook his head. "He _definitely_ should have used a few beauty charms before posing for _that_ monstrosity!" And he would mention those charms in his book, too!

They stared around in surprise, gradually separating and examining the columns closer.

"Okay, my dears," Gilderoy said joyfully. "This is what we're going to do. Hermione, please go back to the hall outside the doors." He handed her an opaque scarf. "Put this over your eyes when you get there and face the wall." He turned to other Gryffindor. "Harry, I want you to wait with me and when I give you the second signal, say ' _Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts four_ ,' just as you practiced. Okay, off with you Hermione." He made little shooing motions with his hands. She took off at a fast walk. Gilderoy guided Harry as the two followed behind her about one-third of the way back and then stopped.

"Okay, Harry," Gilderoy crouched down to be at eye-level with the boy. "This is important, Harry. As soon as you say your lines, as loud as you can, I want you to walk — _not run,_ I don't want you to trip in your excitement — and join Hermione. Then _close the doors_ by saying ' _close_ ,' in Parseltongue. Remember to think about a snake when you say it. Got it?"

Harry, wide-eyed, nodded.

Gilderoy smiled at him, "Okay Harry. Take a deep breath, let it out, and . . . ."

Harry did as told, Gilderoy checked that Hermione wasn't in sight, and then gave him the signal.

Voice quavering slightly, Harry hissed quite loudly as Lockhart again recorded the boy.

"Excellent," Gilderoy exclaimed, "Here's a scarf, now _walk_!" and gave the boy a nudge.

Harry needed no farther incentive and took off rapidly. For once, he had an adult along who seemed in control of the situation. Unlike his adventures _last_ year!

Meanwhile, Slytherin's gigantic stone face was moving, stone on stone grinding loudly. Gilderoy could feel the floor beneath his feet vibrating slightly at the movement. His mouth was opening wider and wider to make a huge black hole. And something was stirring inside the statue's mouth. Something was slithering up from its depths.

Gilderoy stared, fascinated at the grotesque imagery. It was, actually quite disturbing on a variety of levels. Thank Merlin he had been too scared last time to notice, or the phallic symbolism might have left him scarred for life!

Gilderoy licked his lips. This was the nasty part, this was the part that was risky. He watched through the glasses as the snake came out of that hole. Behind him, the Wizard could hear the stonewall slowly closing, adding its slight vibrations to the floor. Good, the kids were safe.

If everything went completely pear-shaped, he was prepared. The parchment on his office desk had detailed instructions on the locations of the remaining horcruxes as well as how to destroy them. The Basilisk venom enhanced Goblin knife weighted it down. Dobby had strict instructions to take both to Madam Bones should Lockhart die, and to keep Harry and Hermione safe _no matter what_.

There would be _no_ wandering in the wilderness while thousands died as someone fruitlessly searched for the vile things.

Similarly, unless he contacted them, the letter with Fleecem, Cheatem, and Beatem would be mailed to Madam Bones in two days detailing the who, what, where, when, and why of Scabbers and Peter Pettigrew. And the solicitors would begin the proceeding for freeing Sirius.

The floor shook as the massive snake hit it.

The Basilisk's eyes glittered and Gilderoy felt a shock as they focused on him. He tried not to look directly at the creatures eyes, despite his glasses. The creature hissed like the Hogwarts Express getting ready to leave. He thought he had remembered the snake being big, but holy mother of pearl, that thing was stonking! Time to leg it.

He reached into his pocket, pulled out a block of wood and dropped it on the ground. As soon as it left his hand, he shot his wand out of its holster and grabbed it. He shouted, " _Finite Incantatem,_ " while pointing at the block, now several steps behind him as he ran down the chamber towards the closed wall.

"Squawk!" cried the surprised rooster that appeared.

 _Okay, now crow damn you!_ Harry thought. The vendor had guaranteed that the roosters would crow. They had certainly been making enough noise in the stall!

Before the rooster could do that though, the bloody damn snake slid across it, not even noticing as it crushed the bird to paste.

"Bloody hell!"

Harry darted over to the columns as the snake quickly followed.

Thank Merlin Harry had decided to get more than just one rooster! The Wizard pulled out second block and dropped it. Again, he _finited_ it, releasing another rooster. This one went "Errk?" Only Merlin knew why, but it turned and ran at the Basilisk just as the snake opened its mouth to hiss. The snake snapped its mouth shut in reflex on feeling something hit its tongue.

Harry stared, "Oh, _come on!_ " He ran down the columns. The snake was close on his heels. He began weaving in and out of the columns. He wanted to confuse the beast. It didn't confuse easily, unfortunately. It did slow it down some as it wound its way around the columns.

He stopped between two columns. He was temporarily out of the snake's sight. He pulled out a third block. He dropped it as he nervously moved away. The snake should appear any second. He cast a _finite_. This had better work, he did _not_ have an unlimited number of roosters!

The rooster appeared and peered around quietly, giving a soft, "murr?"

The Basilisk's head slid around the column.

"SQUAWK!" The rooster had fine instincts and lousy planning. It flapped its wings desperately, going for altitude.

The snake opened its mouth to strike at Harry. The bird flew straight in its mouth.

" _Oh, for Merlin's sake!_ " The wizard dodged around the column and ran. He reached the front of the Chamber and ran out of columns. He crossed the chamber, firing a _reducto_ at the snake to discourage it. It didn't even bother to dodge, although it flinched slightly.

He pulled out his fourth block. He dropped it as he hid behind a pillar. This rooster just stared at him, blinking.

Gilderoy fired another _reducto_ at the snake's eye's. It pulled back, flinching as the spell bounced off the armour between the eyes. Gilderoy took off down the pillar row, in the opposite direction. He glanced back just in time to see a small rain of rocks land on his rooster. His _reducto_ had bounced off the snake. It had hit the ceiling, knocking loose three or four stone of rocks.

He swore vociferously. Harry pulled out another block, and _finite'_ d it. He dodged around the pillars and started weaving through them again. He came around one just as the snake came around the other. The rooster saw it for the first time. It swayed a moment, and then fell over stiffly.

" _Arrgh!_ " screamed Harry in frustration. The bloody damn rooster had either fainted or had a heart attack, probably the latter. He took off running again.

He pulled out his last block, and cast another _finite_. Merlin, he had thought he was being ridiculously pessimistic when he had bought six roosters, but still! This time he held on to the block as it became a rooster. He stared at it as it stared at him. "Well, come on you bloody bird, _crow_."

"Errk?"

" _Crow, damn you!_ "

" _Squawk_!"

"CROW, DAMN YOU OR YOU'RE DINNER!"

He dropped the bird and pointed his wand at it.

It looked at him reproachfully, shook its wings, stretched its neck, and went " _Cock-a-doodle-do!_ "

The Basilisk hissed like a steam locomotive, again.

The rooster jumped three feet into the air. It hit the ground running at a speed that would have done a Roadrunner proud. It disappeared down the columns.

" _Come back here you coward!_ " yelled Harry. "Bloody damned bird." He stared after it. "Well, shite." He put his fists on his hips. "That was my last rooster, too. And conjured roosters just won't do."

A noise from above drew his attention.

"SHITE!" He practically threw himself after the bird as the Basilisk's head lunged down at him.

He couldn't run across the Chamber, that snake's bloody long tail still blocked the Chamber centre. He dodged left as the snake went right. The Wizard managed to double-back on the snake, confusing it for a moment when he didn't appear around the next column as expected.

He took a deep breath, "Fawkes!" he cried out. "I could use a little _help_ here!" Nothing happened except the snake moving closer as it followed the vibrations of his voice. Harry ran down the long Chamber. He darted across to the other side, the snake's head turning to follow him, its body's coils still around the pillars slowing it down. "Fawkes! Bring me the _Sorting Hat_!" His voice cracked on the last word.

Still nothing. He ran back up the Chamber on the other side of the pillars. His lungs were beginning to burn with the effort. He swore to himself he would double his exercise regimen. He would need far more stamina in the coming years. Of course, the stamina would come in handy with the witches, too. That would make it easier to keep it up — pun intended, he thought to himself. He had to end this soon, he could feel his hair getting sweaty and stringy, his clothes beginning to stick to him uncomfortably and ruining their perfect custom-tailored appearance.

The Basilisk followed him. He resumed weaving back and forth between the columns. That forced the massive snake to slow down as it manoeuvred behind him. "Fawkes! _I need the Sorting Hat_!" He was getting a bit desperate.

Okay, maybe he would have to go to Plan C. Bloody hell, what _was_ Plan C? Talk to the bloody damn snake? It hadn't even paused before attacking! Then he heard the faint sounds of music. _Finally!_

Moments later the Phoenix swooped down to Harry. It dropped the Sorting Hat on the floor as it landed on a stone snake on a nearby pillar. The Wizard scooped up the hat and ran down the Chamber. He jammed the Hat on his head thinking furiously " _Sword! I need a Sword! To save the School I need a Sword!_ " He had no other thoughts. Gilderoy had vanished, terrified into hiding as deep into Harry's psyche as he could get.

Even though he knew it was going to happen, the thump as something very heavy and metallic hit his head almost made him see stars. "Bloody hell, Hat, couldn't you make it a bit lighter!" He stumbled as he yanked the Hat off his head, and pulled the Sword of Gryffindor out. He shoved the Hat in a pocket.

The distraction was almost his undoing. The Basilisk had skipped one weave. It almost got him when he came around the next column.

Time to quit fannying around.

He again doubled back, using the snake's coils around the columns to help hide him. The coil was moving around him as the snake pulled more and more of its body out of the weave Harry had tricked it into doing around the columns. He stared at the Sword. Was it going to be like that again? Would he be able to pull it off a second time? He hoped Fawkes was still around.

" _Cock-a-doodle-do! Cock-a-doodle-do!_ " There was a tremendous hissing. " _Cock-a-doodle-do! Cock-a-doodle-do!_ " There was by a THUD and the floor shook. Only his laboured breathing and the sound of dripping water broke the silence.

Harry almost collapsed in shock. "Oh thank Merlin!"

He slowly made his way to the wall, taking only a moment to look at the Basilisk's head, laying sideways against the columns. Its mouth hung partially open. Its eyes were devoid of the light that had formerly filled them.

" _Cock-a-doodle-do!_ "

YES! The Basilisk _was_ dead. He took off his glasses and stored them in a pocket. He cautiously walked up to its head and examined the fangs. He took the sword and slowly drew it along the closest fang. A thin line of clear venom appeared on the sword and gradually disappeared, soaking into the metal.

He paused a moment, thinking, then grinned. He posed as if he were using the sword to attack the basilisk in a last ditch effort to kill it. He carefully used a banishing charm to drive the sword up through the snake's upper palate and into its brain while he held the grip. He slowly pulled it back out.

He turned and started walking towards the wall.

" _Cock-a-doodle-do!_ "

"Shut it, already!" Gilderoy yelled, "It's dead you stupid cluck!"

In late January, after the revelation of the Chamber of Secrets, he would announce he had "discovered" the Sword, and garner another headline.

" _Accio_ roosters!" He vanished the dead ones, then reduced the live one back to a small block of wood and put it in his pocket. He would make sure it had a nice long relaxing retirement at one of the Potter farms, with lots of hens for company.

He stared at the sword for a moment, then shrugged and kept it out. It would be okay for the kids to see it.

He yelled at the wall, "OKAY, HARRY, OPEN THE WALL!"

He waited a moment. "HARRY, OPEN THE WALL!"

Just as Harry/Gilderoy was about to yell again, there was a grinding noise and the wall slid open.

He smiled, tiredly. That running had taken more out of him than he had thought. "Take a look, children. Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defence League, five-time winner of _Witch Weekly's_ Most-Charming-Smile Award, and your beloved Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor has done it yet again! One basilisk, King of the Snakes — no longer a danger to _anyone_. Heh, guess I'll have to add Slayer of Basilisks to my accomplishments, right?"

They walked over and examined the massive snake. Harry and Hermione stared at the dead Basilisk for several moments. He had them turn and look back towards the entrance while he struck a heroic pose behind them, sword prominently held up in triumph. Hermione cleared her throat. "Maybe we should go back, Professor. You look tired."

Gilderoy looked at her. "You're a good Witch, Hermione. Harry is lucky to have you by his side. I had as loyal a friend when I was at Hogwarts, I couldn't have survived without her. I lost her in the war." For a moment, the tears almost overcame him. He drew a shuddering breath and struggled for composure. His close encounter with death, Gilderoy's real first, had shaken him more than he had expected. He would pretend the two didn't notice his shaky voice and slightly trembling arms.

He reached into a pocket and pulled out a silk bag. He opened it and slid the Sword of Gryffindor inside. Gotta love those undetectable expansion charms.

He looked at the Wizard. "Harry, if you know what's good for you, don't let Hermione get away. You'll regret it for the rest of your life if you do."

He shepherded them out of the Chamber. "Come, let's go back upstairs. I wanted to get this done while there weren't any students in school who might have been hurt if things had gone wonky. I'll deal with this tomorrow. Please keep it a secret until I say it's safe to talk about. Okay? There are many things that have to be done first before we can tell anyone."

He used magic to put a small stone sill the width of the Chamber opening, preventing the wall from closing it off from the tunnel. The ride back up the pipe to Myrtle's toilets took much longer than the ride down. Once they reached the top, Gilderoy had Harry close the opening, recording the command as he did so. A _Notice-Me-Not_ on it would help prevent anyone from experimenting with the broken tap. Myrtle's toilets would become a major tourist attraction at Hogwarts this summer, and in the future, and this would prevent any but those he desired from finding the Chamber of Secrets before then.

Another _Notice-Me-Not_ on the door to the toilets provided additional temporary protection for the secret.

"Thank you for your help. Both of you. Harry, Hermione, we'll need to come up with a suitably exciting story for our fans. Okay? If we make it look too easy, they won't believe we really did anything special. Think about it tonight, all right?"

Gilderoy left the two and made his way to his rooms. He planned to kip until suppertime. And notify his solicitors that they needn't send that missive to Madam Bones. The sword he would keep in his trunk until later.

(◎_⊙)

"Rita," he exclaimed, as he entered The Three Broomsticks' front door and made his way to the table where she waited. "How _are_ you this fine Tuesday morning? Are you ready for another scoop the like of which you have never seen?"

She watched him approach with narrowed eyes. "Scoop?"

"Yes. You know the story behind the lost Chamber of Secrets and its monster, do you not?" He had warned her to do a bit of research on the subject, but to hold her silence until he contacted her again.

She nodded.

"Well, how would you like to see the dead monster?" Does a kid want candy?

The rest of the meeting went fabulously, as far as Gilderoy was concerned.

While Harry hadn't really wanted any exposure, Gilderoy had convinced him that this was the best way to handle the situation, getting word of Harry's Parseltongue abilities out to the Wizarding public in the most positive way possible. The boy, after much prodding by Gilderoy, had even provided a memory of their experiences from the toilets to the entrance wall. The picture of the three posed in front of the Basilisk's head with the body stretching off to the side guaranteed a sell-out issue!

Harry/Gilderoy was pretty sure that Rita was almost orgasmic at recording the story of how The-Boy-Who-Lived had helped the illustrious Lockhart confront and destroy the great beast terrorizing Hogwarts' students and staff. The _exact_ details of the battle, of course, were going to be divulged in his forthcoming book — _Burrowing with a Basilisk_.

He had convinced Rita that the best time to release the story was Monday, after Christmas, the holiday parties would be over and nothing would be planned until New Year's Day, giving them a fantastic five-day window to milk the story for all it was worth. Monday to place a teaser with a picture of the Chamber of Secrets closed wall and a giant question-mark beside the two embossed snakes and describing the Chamber's history, including Myrtle's death and Hagrid's expulsion. Tuesday to mention Potter's significant part with a picture of them in front of the entrance wall describing how they got to that point. Wednesday for the story inside the chamber, suitably exaggerated. Thursday for more pictures of the snake and chamber, and Friday for reactions. As for this week? They could run special advertisements regarding a breaking story at Hogwarts that would rock the Wizarding world on its heels.

And the stories would have many questions on why the Great Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore was unable to solve the puzzle over the last fifty years when Gilderoy had figured it out so quickly. "I know I'm extremely clever, all you have to do is read my published works about my exploits. However, I find it difficult to believe that I am _that_ much smarter than the Headmaster, who has had _fifty years_ to research the question," Gilderoy said. "And my D.A.D.A defence classes all figured it out in less than two months!" Which really made the Headmaster look bad. And make the readers ask, 'just how safe is Hogwarts, anyway?'

Dumbledore would be in deep shite over that. If he admitted that he knew what the creature was and the entrance's location, then why hadn't he sealed it off to protect the children, at the very least? If he said he didn't know the nature of the creature or the location of the entrance, he looked incompetent! Dumbledore's stock of goodwill with the Wizarding public would continue to drop, _especially_ among the parents of students. No matter what he said, his reputation suffered.

Yes, it was a good plan. And with the good Headmaster currently wrapped up in politicking with his friends in the Wizenmaggots and dealing with the ongoing power-vacuum Malfoy's demise had created, he wouldn't notice the Goblins rendering a rather large Basilisk into its components.


	14. Chapter 14 Oh, Lordy!

**14\. Oh, Lordy!**

After Rita and Bozo left Hogwarts and the Chamber of Secrets to work on their story, and with Harry and Hermione off on their own pursuits, Gilderoy sauntered up Diagon Alley at midmorning to Gringotts, nodding to his many fans, basking in the glory that was his due. All the attention still made Harry nervous, of course, but not nearly as much as it used to. He knew and understood that he would _never_ be "just another face in the crowd." On the other hand, it was nice to know that so many people cared about him. Yeah, that could change quickly, but as long as he took the right measures in advance, it would never happen. He had to pace himself and the revelations he made — not too much too fast. And this year was turning into quite the goldmine of breaking news stories that featured _him_!

His future security was well and truly assured by things that _he_ had done this year, that were _his_ accomplishments, and not life stories stolen from others. In that vein, Fleecem, Cheatem, and Beatem had started approaching all the people he had wronged and begun setting things right. The villager who had provided the basis for _Wanderings with Werewolves_ found himself the recipient of a "lost" cousin's bequest that significantly improved his home and life, providing a solid old-age security that had been noticeably lacking. He was the richest person in his village and would never again know want. He also received a modest sack of galleons from Lockhart thanking him for his assistance in tracking down the Werewolf. The man would have nothing to say but praise for Lockhart when someone finally tracked him down and asked some questions.

The woman who had inspired _Holidays with Hags_ had a similar bequest, including providing for schooling for her children, and grandchildren, to either Hogwarts or university, whichever was applicable. And a sack of Galleons, as well as a personally autographed complete set of Lockhart's books.

Gilderoy could easily retire the rest of his debts to those he had harmed with only a small portion of the funds looted from the Malfoys. His next two books, _Burrowing with a Basilisk_ and _Restraining a Rat_ , would be best-sellers and easily _replace_ those funds. And push him up the list into the top five richest Wizards in England.

And the revenue from the Basilisk ingredients would only add to his wealth and prestige.

As he entered the bank, a Goblin looked up from his desk and made a motion to another. Before Gilderoy could even get to a counter a Goblin came up to him. "Mr. Lockhart," he said, before turning on his heel and briskly leading the Wizard through a door at the back of the bank and to a small room. "Would you like tea?" the Goblin asked cordially.

"Ah, yes, please."

Harry/Gilderoy looked around. Instead of a sparse stone room, this one was richly appointed in wood with animals-skin rugs underneath well-crafted tables and chairs. His last visit, while nice, hadn't been nearly as pleasant. The Goblins had kept to their reputation as insulting and touchy little bastards that time. But this?

Interesting how simply having ten or so tons of galleons changed their attitude. Or was it the sneaky and underhanded way he had acquired those galleons? It was difficult to tell which they respected more.

He had no sooner sat than a Goblin hurried in with a tray and set the table beside Harry/Gilderoy with cups, kettle, and a plate of biscuits.

Definitely _not_ your ordinary Goblin approach to business.

The Goblin hadn't even reached the door to leave before another came in.

"Mr. Lockhart," said the Goblin as he came over. "I am Ragnurk, your account manager. What can Gringotts do for you today?"

"Ragnurk, my friend!" — no, he wasn't. No Wizard was a friend to the Goblins, according to them — and he hadn't known he had an account manager. "I need a team of professionals to render a rather _large_ magical animal into potion ingredients."

"What kind, how large?" The Goblin sat and pulled a quill and roll of parchment from his pocket.

Harry squashed the Gilderoy urge to wax poetic. The Goblins preferred to get straight to business, no dilly-dallying around for them.

"A Basilisk. Sixty feet plus. Dead. Killed yesterday morning. Very little damage."

The Goblin stared at him. "A Basilisk." He stared a bit more. "Sixty-foot." He frowned. "How killed?"

Gilderoy beamed happily, "I shan't bore you with the full story, but I finished by giving it a sword thrust through the upper palate of the mouth into the brain."

The Goblin sat back in his chair. "Gringotts does not take kindly to jokesters or pranksters."

"I can provide a memory of the creature if you have a pensieve."

It took less than five minutes to verify his story. Just a short montage of the snake chasing him — no signs of the roosters! — him running with the sword, him pulling the sword _out_ of the snake's mouth, him staring at the dead snake from a distance.

The Goblin stared almost respectfully at Lockhart.

"We can have a team assembled shortly. The split will be fifty-fifty."

Harry laughed delightedly. The haggling was long, but ended with a much better eighty-twenty split. Harry would keep half the skin, three ounces of venom, a quart of blood, five of the teeth (not venom fangs) and a single three-ounce vial of each of the other parts of the snake used in potions. All based on his estimate of sixty feet. Shorter would decrease his portions, longer would not change them. The estimate on the value of the snake at today's prices was well over one million galleons. Wow! That alone, when added to his current balance, made him the richest Wizard in the Kingdom.

By the time they finished, the team was ready and Gilderoy showed them the portkey destination via pensieve. They appeared directly in The Chamber of Secrets.

He left the experts to their job and spent some time talking with Myrtle before heading off to a late dinner. The Goblins had said they should be finished by dawn. The Castle's protective enchantments did not extend to where the Chamber lay under the lake, and thus the Goblins could freely portkey back and forth as they needed during the night.

Gilderoy was a bit surprised that he managed to pull off the operation without any reaction from the Headmaster.

Saying that there was no purpose to having the professors and students so widely separated when there were so few around, the Headmaster had moved the House tables to sides and placed a single round table in the Great Hall yesterday. The students straggled in — there were only six total — and joined Gilderoy, McGonagall, and Flitwick for dinner. Snape was eating in his office, the blue-eyed blonde Wizard presumed. The other professors were either with family or out shopping for presents.

The Wizard was still amazed that no one had noticed either Rita or the Goblins' presence on school grounds. Dumbledore must truly believe in the effectiveness of the school's protective enchantments to keep dangerous creatures, both monsters and human, from the school. How that fit with the Troll and Quirrell-mort last year was an interesting question. Had the Headmaster disabled the protections? If so, that easily explained why he had not noticed Gilderoy's extra-curricular activities. Nor noticed so many of the things that had gone wrong in Harry's previous life.

And proved the old Wizard had little to no regard for the safety of his students.

So much of what Dumbledore had done left Harry mystified. Was he "testing" Harry? Or was he just so sure of himself that it never occurred to him that he might be wrong? The first was infuriating, the last astoundingly stupid.

Harry still didn't understand why Dumbledore had hired Lockhart. Was the Headmaster so detached from reality that he never realized the Wizard's incompetence? Harry knew that the Headmaster regularly skimmed the minds of his students — surely he had done the same to the prospective D.A.D.A. professor. Or was he more concerned with "outing" Gilderoy as a fraud than he was about the making sure the students received an education?

In either case, the Headmaster was doing a severe disservice to his students, and neglecting his obligations as a Headmaster. Was Dumbledore so caught up in his schemes for "the greater good" that he didn't see the damage he was inflicting on the Wizards and Witches entrusted to his care? Was the old Wizard senile? Stupid? Or did he simply _not care_ about anything except his schemes?

Just as Harry and Hermione were standing to leave, Gilderoy stood as well, saying, "Mr. Potter, you need a new wardrobe. One that befits your status as the Heir to an important House. I can't believe your guardians have allowed you to dress the way you do. It is an affront to the dignity of your parents and Godfather." Harry was dressed in his regular clothes, no school robes during the hols!

Harry and Hermione stared at him in astonishment.

"So, this afternoon, I shall take you to get proper attire." He swept aside their objections, and imperiously led them outside and on to Hogsmeade.

"Sir," Harry tried to object once again, "You don't need to do this."

"Nonsense, my boy, as your Professor it grieves me to no end that you disrespect your parents so much by what you wear."

Harry glared at the professor. Hermione just watched and listened wide-eyed.

"You are the fourth richest Wizard in all of England, and to dress the way you do is simply shameful," the adult stated. Malfoy used to be third until Lockhart had raided his vault so thoroughly. Lockhart was tenth, now, but when the Basilisk paid off he would move Harry to fifth. And he was tenth instead of higher because of the Goblin fees he had agreed to pay in acquiring Malfoy's fortune and properties. Not to mention the galleons spent paying off his former story sources.

The Potters hadn't been that rich in 1991, but ten years of letting their investments grow without any silly chicanery of trying to boost earnings, while making minimal expenditures for upkeep, had seen their fortune grow considerably. Malfoy would have been second, but he had spent considerable sums in bribes over the last decade.

Both kids had stopped and were staring at him in shock, mouths open. Gilderoy turned to face them. "Surely your _guardians_ told you this, Mr. Potter? If your Muggle guardians did not, then your Magical guardian _had_ to have done so. To _fail_ to do so would be the rankest abandonment of his or her duties I can imagine." He stopped and stared at the boy.

"Rich?" Harry managed to squeak out.

"Yes. Of course. The Potter House is a very old line and your mother's investments have only increased your vaults."

"Vaults?" ventured Hermione, swallowing.

Gilderoy adopted a mien of astonishment. "Mr. Potter, we will fix this right now," he said commandingly.

He marched them straight to The Three Broomsticks' floo. Moments later, they were walking into Madam Malkin's. The two students were in a state of shock.

"Good afternoon, Madam," Gilderoy greeted the proprietor. "Mr. Potter, here, needs a full kit, from underwear to dress robes. Assume he lost _everything_ in an accident at school and only has the clothes he is wearing. Which you will burn when we are done."

The surprised Witch stared at them.

"For right now, prepare him one set of dress robes with the Potter House crest on them. We have an important meeting in a few minutes, so time is of the essence. For the young Witch with us, do the same," Gilderoy continued.

Hermione was staring at him her mouth open in surprise. "Me?" She squeaked out.

"She doesn't have a House, she is a Muggle-born, so put the Potter House crest on her robes as her protector." He reached into his robes and pulled out a small bag. He set it on the counter and pulled out a wallet, removing a small card from it and handing it to the shopkeeper. "Put everything on this," he concluded.

She stared at the card, swallowed, then curtsied. "Immediately, Mr. Lockhart." She turned and called to another clerk, "Miss Watson, call in Miss Likitt and Miss Softbottom, then help me here." She turned to Harry, "Please stand here, sir," she said, pointing at a fitting platform. "And if you would stand there, Miss," she pointed at a second platform. Both children protested but complied when they saw that their professor would not be deterred.

Mrs. Malkin tisk-tisked when she saw the shabby clothes Harry was wearing, and he blushed, embarrassed. Gilderoy could see that Hermione was surprised at just how shoddy the boy's clothes were. In a remarkably short time, both were wearing new black semi-formal robes.

"Excellent!" declared Gilderoy. "Purchase an apartment trunk for each of them; bedroom, kitchen with dining nook, bathroom, closet, and second room with a library. Make sure they are self-shrinking and restoring, with featherweight charm and the Hogwarts' multi-person lockout feature."

He faced the two students, who were bewildered by what was happening. "That means, only one person can be in the trunk at a time while the trunk is at Hogwarts. I know, I know," he said smiling, waving his hands in front of himself in a placating manner, "It ruins your fun — _no private snogging_ — you'll have to still rely on Hogwarts' broom closets." He laughed jovially.

Hermione squeaked again. Harry looked stunned.

He turned his attention back to Madam Malkin. "Now, then, Madam," he said while staring at Harry, "Mr. Potter has lovely green eyes, so I think wearing plum and purple, will make them appear more vibrant. Any shade from rich true purple to misty lavender will work well. Also, a deep wine colour, red-based claret or true burgundy would work. The blue and red undertones in those colours will bring attention to his green eyes." The witch was taking notes.

"I would suggest a range of greens. Green hues intensify the colour of his eyes. Sage, olive, mossy green or dark bottle green to add depth to his eye colour. I think we would like the effect of pear or any green with a slightly yellow base or a clear grassy green." Both students were in listening, blinking, never realizing that one had to be very good at colour coordinating when one is always in the eyes of the public. It had taken Gilderoy years of study to understand how to put it all together. True, he had concentrated on his own needs, but he had to understand how the other colours related to each other as well.

 **"** Basic black always has its place," he continued, "and Mr. Potter's green eyes will positively glow with classic black. Navy is an equally flattering neutral colour, but we want to stay away from washed-out blues and bland beiges." He stared a bit more at the boy, before nodding. "Yes, I think that's what we should go with. His hair, being black, shan't affect those choices." He looked at the woman. "I expect a dozen pre-arranged sets each for summer, fall, winter, and spring." He smiled widely. "He's a boy, no colour coordination sense at all, you know." The shopkeeper nodded while writing.

He turned to face Hermione. She stared back and swallowed, worried about what he would say about her.

"Blue hues — from blueberry and navy to robin's egg and turquoise," he said. "They are complementary to her brown eyes and hair. Don't be timid, jewel-toned cobalts and soft denim colours — the blues will make her eyes stand out as the focus of her face. Get her several blue-jeans in those colours — if you don't know what blue-jeans are, ask a Muggle-born."

"Also, true reds and warm oranges will complement her dark eyes. As will light greens and clear yellows. Medium pinks and lighter blush colours would be extremely flattering, too. A pastel palette is always a pretty contrast to brown eyes." He stopped a moment to consider.

"Black is not a good option. I think cinnamon or a rich taupe, instead. Those neutrals are wardrobe basics paired with other flattering colours. No dark browns, choose creamier colours reminiscent of coffee with a generous dash of milk. Khaki colours would work, as will olives and mossy greens. White is always flattering and will make her eyes appear even darker in contrast, include a dozen blouses and dresses. Warm gold puts sparkle in brown eyes and is always an excellent choice, I believe.

"Lighten up the purple tones and opt for a misty lavender, plum or soft raspberry, I think. A reddish orange is a bold choice — softer versions such as warm peach or apricot would be good as well.

"They are a cute couple, so please try to coordinate their colours with each other." This time Hermione merely bushed.

He sighed. This was going to be an expensive shopping expedition. "Just provide the basics on the underwear. I'm sure Miss Granger would like to make her own choices in cut and style to please her Wizard." The Wizard and Witch in question both pinked in embarrassment, with Hermione's face moving more to bright red.

"She'll also need a dozen sets of slacks, skirts, blouses, and dresses, for each season as well. Arrange them as sets." The saleswitch gave a quick, "uh huh," of understanding as she continued her notes. "Add permanent growth adjustment, cleanliness, and water-resistant runes to everything," he added. "You shouldn't need to replace these for a decade, at least," he said to the two students.

"When everything is complete, put it in the trunks and owl them back to Hogwarts."

Dressed in brand new clothes and semi-dress robes for the first time he could remember, Harry looked slightly uncomfortable as they headed for Gringotts. Hermione looked splendid in her new robes, as well.

"Don't worry, Mr. Potter. You can easily repay me for these purchases at a later date," he said consolingly. "Miss Granger, as Mr. Potter's protectorate, it is within his responsibilities to ensure you are properly attired and equipped at all times. These purchases fall within that purview." She looked as if she were about to object. "Miss Granger," he stopped in the street, flicked his wand to erect a muffling enchantment, and addressed her directly. "This is _not_ a game. You are a _Muggle-born_ and many consider you a third-class citizen, _at best_ , and barely one-step above magical beasts. That crest on your robes tells them that if they do not treat you as a Pure-blood, they will offend Potter House and will have to defend themselves accordingly. The smart ones will notice and act accordingly. The stupid ones will end up in court at best, or dead at worst." He smirked and looked over at the entrance to Gringotts. "And I think you will find that there are other perks to it as well." He looked at her, smiling. She had never seen such fine robes before.

He was so used to the way his Hermione looked that he hadn't really looked at the thirteen-year old Witch in front of him. Her teeth. He had forgotten about her teeth. Her front teeth were longer than the rest and even with her mouth closed you could see the front two sticking over her lip in a slight over-bite.

He sighed and pulled out his wand. He crouched in front of her. "Go like this," he bared his teeth at her in a parody of a smile.

Uncertainly, she did as he asked.

He ordered, " _Don't move!_ " And cast a quick charm.

Her eyes grew wide as she felt her teeth move. After only a few seconds, he had perfectly aligned her teeth.

"Don't move," he repeated as he cast a second spell giving her a smile as beautiful as his own, removing their minor imperfections and making them as white as Muggle writing paper. He didn't add the sparkle charm he normally used, but now the little witch had a physically perfect smile.

"There now, you have a beautiful smile," he said standing back up. "We'll fix your hair another time. I don't know _why_ your parents didn't fix those teeth ages ago. Such a _simple_ thing to achieve such _splendid_ results. You should look up cosmetic charms in the library, such simple things yet they yield such dramatic results."

He cancelled the spell around them and headed to the bank. Hermione had a very introspective look on her face as they walked. And she kept running her tongue over her teeth.

Again, as they cleared the doors, a Goblin hurried over to Lockhart and bowed before leading them through a door at the back and to an office. Like last time, the room had chairs, a table, and credenza against a wall with a chair nearby. This time there was already a tea set in place. They settled themselves, the kids looking uncomfortable.

"Mr. Potter, Miss Granger," Gilderoy said. "Always, always, be polite to Goblins. They will never acknowledge it, they will never reciprocate it, but it does make a difference in their attitude. They do not believe in small talk. Always, always, get right to the point. I made mistakes years in the past and I am still recovering from them. Observe and learn. Do _not_ pretend to know something, admit your ignorance where _necessary_."

Hermione and Harry nodded their understanding.

At that moment, two Goblins came in at the same. The first was Ragnurk, Gilderoy's account manager and the second was a flunky carrying a plate of biscuits.

"Ah, Ragnurk! A pleasure to see you." Gilderoy stood and bowed. "I have a couple of problems for you."

The Goblin grunted and sat in the chair behind the desk. Gilderoy resumed his seat.

"First," he waved at the boy, "Mr. Potter's guardian has _never_ told him _anything_ of Potter House, his responsibilities, or his vaults at this fine establishment. He has _never_ received any communications from Gringotts, nor has his guardian sent any on to him. I suspect his owls have been intercepted or redirected. He would also like to file his Will." Gilderoy sat back to wait for the fireworks.

He was not disappointed. While he did not speak the language, it was still quite easy to pick out the profanity that poured forth. Both children listened in wide-eyed amazement, and not a little fright.

The Goblin screamed something and the door to the room popped open. They didn't understand what he said, but the door closed quickly. The Goblin started writing furiously on a parchment he had removed from the credenza. When he finished, he snapped his fingers and the parchment disappeared.

Gilderoy said, "Second, Miss Granger, here," he indicated her by nodding in her direction, "needs to have a Heritage Search. I think she may have an ancestor's Vault."

Ragnurk stared at the two of them a moment, then smiled, a rather gruesome sight considering the number of sharp pointy teeth he revealed. He pulled out a small parchment and wrote something on it. He snapped his fingers and it, too, was on its way.

Moments later an elderly Goblin came in carrying a rather large book and several files.

"Gutslasher is the Potter House account manager," the Ragnurk. He pointed his chin at the boy. "That is Mr. Potter. He has never received any of our communications, nor does he know anything of his estate."

This engendered a goodly bit more of Goblin swearing. Gilderoy leaned over to Harry and quietly said, out of the corner of his mouth, "I hope you're taking notes."

The boy gave him a startled look that slowly slid into a shy smile.

Once the profanity stopped, Gilderoy said to Harry and Hermione, "The Goblins will do a paternity test, first, to confirm that Mr. Potter is truly the son of James and Lily Potter." Gutslasher pulled a parchment from one of the folders, after he set everything on the table, and muttered a few words over it.

"Mr. Potter," Gilderoy said as the Goblin was working. "You will need to sign your name on this parchment using a 'Blood Quill.' It will draw blood from your hand as you write. It will sting slightly, but that is all. Blood Quills are restricted to use by Goblins and with certain Wizarding contracts."

Hermione watched closely as the little Wizard took the proffered quill from Ragnurk and carefully wrote his full name, _Harry James Potter_. The boy did well, barely winching at the sting in his hand as he wrote. No sooner did he finish than the names of his parents, James and Lily appeared, followed by his grandparents, Fleamont and Euphemia Potter on one side and Graham and Denise Evans on the other.

The elderly Goblin looked at the parchment, nodded, and added it to a folder tucked inside the enormous book he was carrying. Ragnurk took another parchment out, wrote something, and snapped his fingers to send it away.

Gilderoy quickly spoke up, "Gutslasher, given that Mr. Potter's guardian has failed so spectacularly at preparing him for his position, would it not be appropriate to consider the guardian unfit and to immediately bestow upon Mr. Potter his Lordship so that he might hire his own tutors?"

Both Goblins looked at the Wizard.

He shrugged, "Gross negligence at the least, outright Line Theft at the worst."

They studied him a moment, then conferred for a few moments. Finally, they turned back to the three non-Goblins. "Yes," Gutslasher said. He turned to the little Wizard and handed him a parchment and quill. "Put in writing that you swear your guardian has not informed you of any rights and obligations as the Heir to House Potter. Put a drop of your blood on your signature."

As Harry was signing the document, he said, "I don't even know who my guardian is, unless it's my Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia. And they told me my parents died drunk in a car accident."

"Are those Wizards?"

"No, sir, both are Muggles. Aunt 'Tunia is my mother's sister."

"And you do not know the identity of your magical guardian?"

"Ur," Harry looked embarrassed, "No sir."

The Goblin handed him another parchment, taking the first and tearing it in half. "Do it again, and put in that you magical guardian hasn't revealed himself or herself to you and that your Muggle guardians have lied to you regarding your parents and the magical world."

Harry sighed, but did as requested, handing over the finished document with a drop of blood by his signature. The Goblin read it and tossed it on the desk where it briefly flashed in a bright glow.

"Excellent, Gutslasher," Lockhart said. "While we wait for the ring, perhaps you could show Mr. Potter his financial position?" He turned to Harry, "Would you like it do that in private or would you mind doing it here?"

Harry looked slightly panicked at the thought of leaving the room.

Gilderoy turned back to the Goblins. "Mr. Potter, I think, wishes to consult in here."

Harry gave a relieved nod.

Gutslasher looked back and forth between them, and then grunted in acknowledgement. He glared at Harry a moment.

"Mr. Potter knows nothing of finance, Gutslasher," Gilderoy said, "So perhaps you should acquaint him with his Vaults' status and a _brief_ overview of his properties. Later you can explain his investments in depth."

The glare transferred to Gilderoy, but the Wizard kept his face clear and calm, no trace of his normal showy smile. The Goblins would find it offensive.

The Goblin grunted again, and then turned to Harry. He opened the ledger, slammed it down in front of the boy and started talking rapidly.

Gilderoy turned to Ragnurk. "Now, as I said, the Miss Granger, here, needs a Heritage Search."

Hermione had been listening carefully to Gutslasher and looking over Harry's shoulder. Both of them showed shock at what they were seeing. Harry knew he had money, but to see the actual sums was stunning. There were far more digits than he had ever expected to see.

The Wizard walked over, took the Witch by a shoulder, and guided her over to the Credenza where Ragnurk was waiting. She kept looking back at Harry and his account manager. During their conversations, another Goblin had come in and dropped off some papers.

Ragnurk just handed the Blood Quill to the Witch and pointed to the top sheet. Hermione gave Gilderoy a questioning look but didn't take the quill.

Gilderoy smiled at the small Witch.

"Miss Granger, that paper is charmed to match all the blood and magic signatures recorded in Gringotts. When you write your name, it will compare your blood and magic with all those records and if any match, or match close enough to indicate you are an Heir to the Family, they will list below your name."

He chuckled, "You might even discover that some of your classmates are distantly related to you via their great-grandparents or even farther back.

She hesitantly took it and signed her name.

There was a momentary pause, then, _House of Dagworth-Granger, sole living Heir_ appeared below her name, as if written by her. She looked up at Gilderoy and then the Goblin.

"Excellent, then, Miss Granger!" Lockhhart said enthusiastically. "It appears you are related to the Wizarding family of Dagworth-Granger and you are the only known living relation. Therefore, you inherit any vaults, their contents, and lands left by the family." He smiled broadly, as if she had done something quite clever. "Hector Dagworth-Granger was the founder of the _Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers_ , and a famous potioneer. You should find his personal journals quite interesting on the subject. Professor Snape might even be impressed if you were to give him a _copy_ of one of them." The little Witch stared at him, still trying to take in that she belonged to a Wizarding family.

Ragnurk had already addressed a parchment and sent it on its way with a snap of his fingers. Almost at that moment, the door opened and a Goblin came in with small box that he took to Gutslasher.

They watched silently as Harry opened the box and put on the ring inside. Gilderoy walked over and held out his hands. "Congratulations, Lord Potter! You are now your own man, beholden to no one." Harry dazedly shook his hand.

"Gutslasher, because Lord Potter knows nothing of financial or estate management, would you recommend someone to act as his and Miss Granger's tutor? Charge his cost to Potter House. We can set up something on Sunday afternoons in Hogwarts or Hogsmeade, I'm sure." The Goblin nodded.

"Also," he turned and addressed Harry. " _Lord_ Potter," the boy blushed at the title, "before you occupy any of your properties, I suggest you have the Goblins review and update their protective enchantments. There are Death Eaters still out there who would love to sneak up on you if they could. Whichever property you select to stay at this summer," the boy's eyes widened in surprise at that possibility, "I suggest you put it under a _fidelius_ charm and reveal that only to a select few." He paused, and then added significantly, " _Not_ the Headmaster, who might feel compelled to interfere and force you to your relatives in Surrey." Harry's face darkened at the mention of his aunt and uncle. Hermione gave Gilderoy a startled look and then turned to look at Harry. Harry slowly nodded.

"If you wish, I can give you advice on which adults you can trust. There aren't many besides myself."

The boy nodded again.

"Would you like the Goblins to review and upgrade as needed the protective enchantments on all your properties?"

"Yes, Professor Lockhart."

Gilderoy tilted his head towards the Goblins, "Well then, tell them." Harry hesitantly gave them the orders.

"Miss Granger," the Wizard turned to the girl, "before you give such orders to the Goblins, please carefully _review_ your finances and the costs. Spending gold you don't have, even by accident, can be quite fatal when dealing with Goblins."

She nodded as she said, "Yes, Professor Lockhart."

"In the meantime, I suggest you send copies of the Gringotts reports to your parents. Lord Potter, I'm sure, would not mind giving Hedwig the exercise."

Both students gave him a curious look, wondering how he knew that Harry's owl's name was Hedwig.

They spent another hour with the Goblins reviewing the financial statements. Like most Houses, the Potter had most of their wealth tied up in property, however because there hadn't been any withdrawals in ten years there was much higher percentage of gold in his vaults than most. Gilderoy suggested he leave it mainly untouched until he had learned more about investing. His income was roughly twenty thousand galleons a year, ten times that of the average Witch or Wizard.

Miss Granger's estate was considerably smaller, with only a single dwelling. Dagworth-Granger's income from his potion patents had expired a hundred years ago. And while he had founded the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers, that did not provide any income, only bragging rights. If the house had had no upkeep since the last Dagworth-Granger had lived there, it might not be inhabitable. It was highly doubtful that any house-elves still survived and maintained the place, although it was possible. They would have to set aside a weekend to examine it.

As they were wrapping up, Hermione asked, "Have _you_ done a Heritage Search, Professor Lockhart?"

He grinned widely, his charming smile on full display, "Why thank you for thinking of me, Miss Granger. I am the only Lockhart — my father is a Muggle and my mother a Witch whose family disinherited her, so only my family name will list."

She looked at him a moment, then said, "Why not do one anyway, as long as we are here."

He shrugged his shoulders. "An excellent idea, and a no-result demonstration is as important as one that reveals much." He turned to Ragnurk. "A Heritage Search, Ragnurk." He chuckled slightly. "Perhaps there is a secret or two hiding in my ancestry that I do not know!"

Two minutes later, he was staring at the parchment in horror, his eyes wide as the print marched down the page past his Family name. " _No!_ " he whispered.

The parchment displayed:

.

 _House of Lockhart, Lord, founder._

 _House of Black, Lord, by Magic._

 _House of Potter, Lord, by Magic._

 _House of Peverell, Lord, by Magic._

 _House of Gryffindor, Lord, by Magic._

 _House of Slytherin, Lord, by Right of Conquest, by Magic._

 _House of Gaunt, Lord, by Right of Conquest, by Magic._


	15. Chapter 15 A Purr-fect Christmas

**15\. A Purr-fect Christmas**

"How is this _possible_ , Ragnurk? How can _I_ be Lord Potter when _he_ is Lord Potter," Gilderoy pointed at Harry, "and wearing the Lordship Ring?"

Both Goblins stared at the parchment, scowling madly.

"And _Lord Black_? I realize the current Heir Black is in Azkaban, but how can _I_ be Lord Black?"

Actually, now that Harry/Gilderoy stopped to think about it, it made all the sense in the world. His complete magical core was resident in Lockhart. And because his magical core was the same as the student Harry's, albeit more developed, as far as magic was concerned they were the same person. And as Potter from the future had been both Lord Potter and Lord Black, magic from now had accepted him as Lord Potter and Lord Black because _his_ magic said he _was_. His magic _knew_ he was Lord of those two estates.

That he was also Lord Peverell was a surprise, but considering House Potter's ownership of the coveted Deathly Hallows Invisibility Cloak, that was predictable. The father in each generation probably told his oldest child of the importance of the relic until there came a time when a father died before disclosing that important information and left subsequent generations in ignorance.

Slytherin and Gaunt, by Right of Conquest, those, too, were predictable. He had never bothered with a Heritage Search in the future, so he had never known. He had been too busy trying to keep himself and his friends alive. And, well, after he finally beat Voldewhore, there hadn't been anything left to inherit. But his magic had known. And in _this_ time he had destroyed Riddle's soul fragments in both Riddle's diary and Ravenclaw's Diadem — two more vanquishes.

On the other hand, when he thought about it, Golderoy being Lord Slytherin would drive _all_ the Pure-blood old farts barmy!

Gryffindor, though? That was a total surprise. Where had _that_ come from?

And Gilderoy's mother was a Witch. Her family had kicked her out and cut her off from any inheritances for the sin of marrying a Muggle. _He_ had had no reason to suspect that a Heritage search would reveal anything he didn't already know, so why waste the galleons? And without the addition of Harry's core, he would have been right.

But in any case, it meant that magic regarded both him and the child Harry as being the same person. And that his magic and Lockhart's had not intermixed to any real degree, yet. They existed as separate entities that had formed a sharing system. Perhaps someday they might fully merge, but Harry/Gilderoy figured it might take decades.

While Harry/Gilderoy was contemplating these possible facts, the Goblins had both the adult and the child Wizard sign new Heritage Search parchments. Harry's displayed:

.

 _House of Potter, Lord, by Blood inheritance._

 _House of Peverell, Lord, by Blood inheritance._

 _House of Gryffindor, Lord, by Blood inheritance._

 _House of Slytherin, Lord, by Right of Magical Conquest._

 _House of Gaunt, Lord, by Right of Magical Conquest._

.

His matched Gilderoy's except for Houses Lockhart and Black. That Harry's didn't include Black made sense because Sirius hadn't yet died and made official the inheritance to the boy. At the moment, Harry Potter was only a _possible_ heir. It wouldn't be official until Lord Black made the announcement or Gringotts probated his Will. Harry/Gilderoy, though, had been Lord Black for over a decade in the future, so that magic maintained it. Sirius' will no longer mattered because Harry/Gilderoy Lockhart was Lord Black according to _his_ magic.

The Goblins were as mystified as everyone else, though.

"That should be _impossible_ ," said Ragnurk, "One of you should list as a member of the House, not the Lord. There is only one way to test this." He turned to Harry. "Lord Potter, give your Lordship Ring to Mr. Lockhart." He turned and scowled at Lockhart. "If the Wizard can put the ring on his finger, then he, too, is Lord Potter. And what is true for one is true for the others."

Harry looked at Gilderoy hesitantly. The Wizard smiled at him broadly, "I promise that I will return the ring to you poste-haste. I have _no_ desire to be Lord Potter."

Harry slowly withdrew the ring from his finger and handed it to Lockhart. Gilderoy just as slowly edged it onto his right-hand ring finger. It adjusted as he did so, growing larger to fit his adult-sized finger. When he let go, it resized to fit perfectly.

They both looked over to the Goblins, who were staring intently. Finally, Gutslasher looked at Ragnurk and shrugged his shoulders. Gilderoy removed the ring and returned it to Harry. Once it was back on the boy's finger, Gilderoy said, "Mr. Potter, I swear I will not make any alterations to your House Potter properties or financial estate without consulting you first unless it is an emergency and those alterations are to your or House Potter's benefit. So Mote it Be! _Lumos_."

Harry said, "You don't have to do that . . . ."

Gilderoy interrupted, "Yes, I do. These combined Lordships are going to be a nightmare when everyone outside this room discovers their existence." He paused and looked at the two children. "First, _you_ are Lord Potter. I will not meddle with anything that is House Potter without your express permission first. I do not wish to be involved and will modify my will accordingly. Second, you do not know this, but your Invisibility Cloak is an heirloom belonging to the Peverell House, of which you are a direct descendant. There is quite a story behind it, the _Fable of the Three Brothers and Death_ , perhaps I'll tell it to you some day."

Both Hermione and Harry looked shocked, probably at the notion that Lockhart not only knew about the Cloak, but that he knew so much more about it than they did!

"I will investigate House Peverell to make sure everything is proper before I turn it over to you as the rightful heir."

Hermione asked, "But how do you know you aren't the rightful heir?"

The Goblins were listening intently.

He smiled wryly, "I know my father's lineage as well as my mother's, _nothing_ in either line provides as solid a link to Peverell House as your Invisibility Cloak, Mr. Potter. I have my suspicions as to why I am listed as Lord of several of your Houses, but I cannot speak of them. In any event, I will yield to your superior claims later, _after_ I make sure there are no hidden contracts or claims against the Houses that adversely affect you or Miss Granger."

They both looked at him questioningly.

"Such as a marriage contract that circumstances would now activate," he explained. "You would be most displeased to discover that in the far past House Peverell made an agreement with House Malfoy, for example, whereby if both Houses should have their only children in Hogwarts at the same time, and of the appropriate sexes, they should wed for the continuance of the families." He smirked, "Miss Granger might object to that, correct, my dear?"

The two both had expressions of revulsion, although Hermione still managed to blush a bit.

"Similarly, I shall vet the other Houses — Slytherin, Gaunt, and Gryffindor — before we make any momentous decisions." He smiled confidently. "House Black belongs to your godfather, Sirius Black, who is illegally incarcerated in Azkaban prison. I am working on getting him out, by the way."

"I think you will want to yield the Houses Gaunt and Slytherin to me in the future. In the meantime, I shall hold as regent for you on your other Houses until you reach your majority. And you will have your hands full with Houses Potter, Gryffindor, and Peverell! That's a wife and a concubine for each, you know."

He studied the two stunned children. Clearly, they would accomplish nothing more of import today. Just coming to terms with Hermione's new status would take her the rest of the day. And Harry, poor Harry, was completely lost at discovering that not only was he rich, but that he had a home, _his home_ , he could go to this summer. No more Dursleys — _ever_! Gilderoy would have to bring them back to Gringotts after Christmas to finalize some details.

In any case, this certainly moved up his plans for dealing with Slytherin's Locket. As Lord Black he wouldn't have to wait for Sirius to get out of Azkaban. He could easily get Kreature to fetch the tainted locket, deal with it, and have it ready to present on schedule to Professor Snape. And if he could get the Goblin's to retrieve the lost House Gaunt ring . . . well that would save him considerable time and effort! That only left the Hufflepuff Cup to deal with. And as Lord Black, maybe he could get the Goblin's to allow him access. If that didn't work, then he could try to use his new seats on the Wizenmaggots — Potter, Black, Gryffindor, and Slytherin — to get a law passed that would allow him access.

And in the meantime, his being Lord Black added to his already substantial wealth as Lockhart made him easily the wealthiest Wizard in all of Europe, if not the world.

"Lord Potter, Lady Dagworth-Granger, I suggest you keep today's discoveries quiet while we sort these things out. Lady Dagworth-Granger, be sure to owl your parents with a copy of that paperwork. See if they can manage to get Monday off from work so we can consult on exactly what all this means for you and them. At the very least, the three of you will want to examine your Vault to see what books and journals your esteemed ancestor has left to you. You might also be able to visit the Dagworth-Granger homestead on Monday for a preliminary examination. Who knows, you might want to move there if it's nice enough."

And seeing her parents' expressions when they discovered she had turned herself into a cat-girl was going to be priceless. Too bad they weren't of Japanese descent — the pranking potential would have been out of sight!

He turned to Harry, "Mr. Potter, I know all this is a shock, but it is _imperative_ you tell no one of your multiple Lordships, not even Misters Weasley, Miss Lovegood, or Mr. Longbottom. You should also make your ring invisible."

Harry looked at him questioningly.

"Just will that none may see it and it will be."

In the middle of all this, a Goblin had arrived with a small box. He had handed it to Ragnurk, and now Ragnurk handed it to Hermione. Moments later, she was admiring her new ring, before making it disappear from view as well.

He turned to the two Goblins. "Ragnurk, we will return on Monday to take care of some of this business. If there are other account managers involved, have them at the meeting. Have the property protective enchantment reports available as well as all the relevant financial details on each property. Check for any outstanding betrothal or marriage contracts on all the Houses and withhold them until we can carefully examine them. I will expect portkeys to all the properties so that we may view them.

"If there are any encumbrances, provide all the details and our possible courses of action.

"Put these in logical and complete order, and in language simple enough for Muggles and children to understand with only minimal effort."

The Goblins grimaced, but nodded agreement. Lockhart also got them to agree to withhold the information on the new Lordships for as long as possible.

"I think we have spent enough time here today. Copy the property reports for Lord Potter and Lady Dagworth-Granger. We will be here at nine in the morning."

He waited only long enough for the Goblins to hand them the duplicated items, then ushered the children back out into Diagon Alley. "How about some ice cream at Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour? I think we deserve a treat after all that!"

The castle's reaction to his return was startling. He could feel the protective enchantments as they started to shift to his control. Apparently, wearing the Lord Gryffindor and Lord Slytherin rings had a few additional perks. He managed, however, to delegate control back to the Headmaster before the older Wizard realized things had started to change. His new situation, though, meant that the Castle's protective enchantments no longer held any restrictions for him. It also meant he could monitor them whenever he wanted.

(⊙_◎)

The next morning, at breakfast, he received a Gringotts' owl. The estimated market value for the Basilisk parts, at current prices and after removing theirs and his reserved portions, was three million galleons — mostly in the venom sacs (almost four litres), eye fluids (sixteen litres), and one hundred square yards of Basilisk skin (extremely valuable because it was almost impervious to all spells, even the Unforgivables to a mild degree). The letter also included an offer to purchase all the non-reserved parts for a flat one million galleons. Gringotts would take the risk on selling the Basilisk parts over several years across the world through their connections to prevent flooding the markets and substantially decreasing the estimated income. The world supply of the venom at present, for example, was less than a litre! They also had the facilities to store the ingredients whereas Gilderoy did not.

He wrote in his counter offer of two point five million. He figured they would settle somewhere between one-and-a-half and two million. It was a fair price. And put their part of deal close to the original fifty-fifty split they had originally offered. Heh. Goblins. Funny how that worked out! Harry/Gilderoy didn't care. It was the fame that drove Gilderoy. And Rita Skeeter's articles were doing a fine job of that. He could hardly wait for Monday!

That the Goblins had made more profit off him in the last three months than all their other clients in the last two years was incidental — the good will he got, though, was worth every galleon. When Harry/Gilderoy got down to going after the Hufflepuff cup, that good will would pay dividends.

Plus, the massive payout would place him as the richest Wizard in the world — by at least triple — and _easily_ provide him the gold coin to fund everything he wanted to do in the next year.

In the meantime, his deals for Harry insured the boy was moving up the ranks as well.

But it was kind of funny how both Harry and Gilderoy could care less about the money. Gilderoy only wanted to see his name in the headlines. Harry only wanted to get rid of Voldewhore. The money was merely a way of counting their success and achieving those goals! Gilderoy thought it was a pity, though, that the Wizarding world would never know _he_ had saved them from complete destruction. Harry wasn't disappointed in the slightest.

After breakfast, he retired to his office, calling out, "KREACHER!" as soon as the door closed.

There was a long silence, then, POP! "Kreacher comes. Who is this filthy half-blood? Kreacher cannot resist. How? Kreacher's bad master is in Azkaban and no others can call." The house-elf looked around suspiciously.

Gilderoy smiled broadly at the little creature. " _I_ am Lord Black."

The elf made an ugly grimace, "Impossible. Filthy Half-blood cannot be Lord of Noble and Ancient Pure-blood House Black. Kreacher go." The house-elf disappeared with a POP.

Harry/Gilderoy laughed. "Charming as ever," he said under his breath. "Kreacher, as Lord Black I order you to appear here!"

POP! "Kreacher comes again. How can filthy Half-blood command Kreacher?"

Before the house-elf could leave a second time, Harry/Gilderoy said jovially, striking a commanding pose, "Kreacher, how would you like to finish what your good master Black told you to do?"

Kreacher stared at him suspiciously. "Kreacher wonders how detestable Half-blood knows of Good Master."

"How I know is unimportant," Gilderoy said with an elegant wave of his hand. "That I do know your good master Regulus ordered you to destroy a certain locket, which you have been unable to do, is all you need to know."

"Foul Wizard is lying to Kreacher, to trick Kreacher." The house-elf scowled, taking a half-step toward Lockhart. "Kreacher cannot attack horrible Half-Blood. Kreacher . . . ."

Gilderoy hardened his voice, "Kreacher, I order you to bring me the locket you were ordered to destroy. _Now_."

Kreacher stood there a moment, clearly fighting the compulsion to obey. Then he disappeared. Several minutes passed. Gilderoy was patient. Even a House-elf needed time to fetch something under lock and key.

Just as he was becoming annoyed, Kreacher returned, the only sign of the locket was his tightly closed right hand.

"Excellent," Harry/Gilderoy said happily. He looked down at the House-elf. "Can you feel the evil taint in that locket, Kreacher?" he asked softly.

Kreacher gave him an uncertain look. "Dark thing is more than just Dark, Kreacher thinks. Is why Good Master told Kreacher to destroy it. How does miserable Half-blood feel it? Is it a trick?" he mumbled to himself.

"Follow me," Gilderoy ordered, flicking his wand and casting a disillusionment charm on the House-elf.

Moments later, he was walking back and forth in front of a wall on the seventh floor. Kreacher watched him scowling. He was only marginally surprised when a door appeared.

Once inside the Cleansing Chamber, Harry turned to the unhappy House-elf. "Kreacher, the Wizard that created the Dark spell on that locket is the same Wizard who killed your good master. Your good master knew what that spell was and knew it had to be destroyed. He was willing to _die_ to destroy that magic." Kreacher stared at him scowling.

"This room is specially designed to destroy that spell without harming the object itself. Together, we will complete the task given to you by your good master Regulus."

"Kreacher tried everything to destroy the locket. Fire, acid, beating, everything. Nothing worked. This shan't work."

"Then you have nothing to lose in doing it, right?"

Reluctantly, scowling fiercely, Kreacher agreed.

"Place the locket in the middle of the room."

He did, the chain wrapping around the locket.

"We have to wait an hour. Tell me about your good master." Gilderoy sat on the floor, motioning Kreacher to join him. Harry had never talked with Sirius about his younger brother. He only knew that Sirius had hated the boy for joining with Voldewhore. And Harry had been too busy fighting the war to sit and talk with the House-elf before he died defending the Black Mansion. And he knew better than to ask the House-elf's opinion of Sirius!

Finally, an hour had passed. Gilderoy stood and then crouched down beside the initiating circle in the floor and held out his wand. "Put your hand on mine." Tentatively, the House-elf wrapped his long fingers around Gilderoy's hand. Gilderoy placed the wand tip on the edge of the circle and said, _"Exorcizamus immundus spiritus._ _"_ _He stood and said, "We must hurry," and hustled the elf out of the chamber and closed the door. "And now, we wait again. So, what other pranks did Regulus play on Sirius?"_

Fifteen minutes passed rather quickly, and they entered the chamber to see the Locket gleaming on the floor. Kreacher ran over and grabbed it.

"Do you feel anything from it, Kreacher?"

"Nothing!" Kreacher looked up at him and smiled — a scary thing to behold. "Kreacher has done what Good Master Regulus wanted! Kreacher is happy."

Gilderoy smiled, "Excellent!"

He stepped over to the House-elf. "May I see it for a moment, Please? I will give it back."

Reluctantly, yet oddly happy, the House-elf handed over the locket. Gilderoy pressed the button and the locket popped open. Unlike the last time he had seen the evil artefact, this time there were no blood-red eyes staring back at him. The chamber had removed _all_ the enchantments, Voldewhore must have subverted the original enchantment by Salazar into becoming a part of his horcrux. Now it was merely a gold locket with nothing of import inside.

He reached into his pocket and removed a galleon. He studied the locket and its chain carefully, then changed the galleon into a duplicate, putting enough magic into it to make it permanent.

He held the duplicate out to Kreacher. "Kreacher, this locket is a priceless artefact that I would like to return to Hogwarts for everyone to see. Will you accept this duplicate I created as a remembrance of your Good Master Regulus? It will be yours forever, and I swear on my magic as Lord Black that I will not take it from you, nor have anyone take it from you. I further forbid any member of the Black Family, in perpetuity, to take it from you, on pain of expelling them from the family. It will be yours and only yours. So Mote it Be. _Lumos_." His wand-tip glowed. "And there's a spell on it that allows you, Kreacher, to 'call' the locket to yourself if it ever gets 'lost.'"

"You . . . you would do that for Kreacher?" Kreacher had giant tears dripping from his eyes.

Harry took the duplicate locket and draped it around Kreacher's neck.

Gilderoy left Kreacher alone for the next half-hour as he cradled the locket and cried in happiness at finally completing his master's order, and receiving such a fine remembrance.

Finally, Gilderoy interrupted. "Kreacher, now that you have finished your beloved master's last order, it is time you took care of the Mansion. It is so filthy right now, that not even a Muggle would want to walk inside, not to mention how revolted a Pure-blood would be to see it. A Pure-blood would assume you were a bad House-elf and dismiss you immediately."

Kreacher gave him a horrified look.

"But I know you were distracted by your last order from your Good Master Regulus, so you needn't worry about that. I want you to clean the house from top to bottom, so that it looks as if it were brand new. Take a spare trunk from storage and place all the Dark or Cursed Artefacts you find in that trunk. Get a second trunk and put all the cursed books in it. I want the House so safe a Muggle or child could walk through it without fear of anything bad happening. Not that I plan to have any Muggle children wandering in it, but still, it's the thought that counts."

Kreacher leapt to his feet about to POP off his new mission.

"Wait," ordered the Wizard, "You are an _important_ member of the Black family. That means I want you to _take care of yourself_." He stared at the surprised elf. "You are _not_ to work yourself into exhaustion! When you are hungry, get a proper meal to eat. When you are tired, rest — you can use your resting time to plan what needs to be done next and the easiest way to do it properly, if you want. When you are sleepy, I want you to sleep. Most importantly, _do not punish yourself_! If you feel you need punishment, you will tell me, and why, and _I_ will decide! _Is that clear_?"

Kreacher nodded, staring at him and frowning.

"You cannot do your job properly if you are tired, hungry, or hurt! I will _not_ be pleased," he said imperiously, his hands on his hips and dramatically posed looking down his nose at the diminutive house-elf, "if I call for you and find you too tired to do what I need because you overworked yourself. If you need help, you will tell me and I will see about getting you more help. Is this all clear?"

Again, Kreacher nodded.

"Excellent! We have an accord." He was about to dismiss the House-elf when he had another thought. "Is the portrait of Mrs. Black in the main Hall?"

"Yes," Kreacher answered.

"Excellent. Please remove it and place it in storage with the other portraits in the Black Vaults." Getting that insane biddy out of the house would go a long ways to making the place habitable once more.

"Off you go now," he waved his hands genially, motioning the House-elf away.

Kreacher POPed off. Harry/Gilderoy sighed. Maybe by the time Sirius got out of Azkaban and St. Mungo's the house at Twelve Grimmauld Place wouldn't be so miserable a place to live.

He headed back to his office. He was expecting delivery of his Basilisk parts this afternoon. He planned to get the skin to an armourer as soon as possible. Wearing that during a battle would make him almost impervious to _any_ magical spells. And as tough as it was, even common swords and knives would have difficulty making an impression on it, never mind actually penetrating it. The armourer would have quite a chore ahead of him. But that was all right. He would give the Wizard enough skin for two outfits, let him keep the extra, and Lockhart would get the work done free!

(◎_◎)

Thursday, and Christmas Eve, came quickly and the staff had a small Christmas party after tea. Gilderoy had been unhappy to hear that Professor Snape had been an absolute cad on his date with Sinistra. He had been sullen and rude to the poor woman. Humph. See if _he_ ever did any more favours for the stupid git!

He had situated himself between Sinistra and McGonagall at the tea and flirted shamelessly with both. Afterwards, at the party, he had sent a Hogwarts elf to his room to retrieve his record player. It was a muggle device, but he had substituted a spinning charm for the motor. A sonorous charm on the needle had supplied the amplification. As a result, he spent the evening dancing with the witches, but spending most of it with Sinistra and McGonagall. Somewhere along the way, the butterbeers became shots of fire-whiskey.

The next morning, Christmas morning, Harry woke to perhaps the best Christmas presents he had ever received — two very accommodating witches. The three missed most of the morning feast, but none of them felt unhappy about that in the slightest.

The few students in residence were shocked to see the three walk in together, laughing and in very good moods. Professor McGonagall's magnificent smile instead of her normally stern visage was what startled them the most, Harry/Gilderoy thought.

Harry/Gilderoy surprised the two witches when he gave them presents at the table — a wand holster each, with automatic sizing, comfort, invisibility, and anti-summoning runes. He had explained that they never needed to worry about not having their wands available when needed, as he had worn his all night and they had never noticed!

They had both apologized profusely for not having anything as nice a gift for him. "I merely wanted you two fine ladies always to be safe, and the holsters are appropriate for your positions as Professors at this fine institution," he had happily explained.

He didn't mention that Harry, Hermione, Neville, and Luna also received the same gift. In addition, those three had received their special duplicate wands and holsters. The note included had advice on where to wear the new wands — tied to their legs at all times — with a stern warning that they were not to be used at Hogwarts unless in an emergency. At home, they could use them as much as they wanted. Neville would get his when he returned to school.

Dobby had been quite busy trying to capture their expressions, without anyone seeing him, when they opened them.

After breakfast, the three made their separate ways to their rooms to put away their gifts. The students never noticed that the three then met again at his room, leaving only for tea and then returned.

How he had managed to talk the two witches into such a marathon game of Exploding Snap left both witches wondering and laughing for days. The variations he had come up with as extra penalties for holding the exploding card might have had something to do with it though — McGonagall still chuckled at the memory of watching Sinistra trying to pat her head, rub her stomach, and hop on one foot, all at the same time. And that car-e-o-key singing had been hilarious, especially after the third fire-whiskey. And the Monopoly game! What a strangely engrossing Muggle game it had been — who knew Sinistra was such a cut-throat capitalist!

Dobby, of course, was keeping track of the Golden Duo — their third and fourth were spending the hols at home. Dobby had a Wizarding camera to catch all the highlights of their expedition into enemy territory. And while Hermione was distracted, he carefully decanted the rest of the polyjuice into potion bottles and dropped two into her pocket for future reference. He kept the others in stasis against a future need.

Late that evening, both Dobby and Harry/Gilderoy had spent an hour laughing at the pictures of Harry discovering too late that he should have resized his underwear, shoes, and belts _before_ drinking the polyjuice. And while Hermione would probably never find the situation funny, seeing her change into a cat-girl was simply too hysterical for words.

Plus, Cat-Hermione was just so cute! He definitely was going to blow that one up into a poster for his office.

Harry/Gilderoy visited the Hospital Wing shortly _after_ visiting hours were over. "Ah, Miss Granger! How delightful to see you are in fine health after your accident," he said as he walked over to her. He flicked his wand and moved some screens into place so that casual lookers in the morning would not see the poor Witch. She whimpered slightly. He studied her with a critical eye.

"I must say, you are quite a cute cat-girl." He paused a moment as she stared morosely at the bedspread. He couldn't tell if she was blushing. As depressed as she was, probably not.

"Do you know that no one has _ever_ studied what happens when someone accidentally ingests an animal hair instead of a human hair in polyjuice?"

She gave him a horrified look — how had he guessed?

"I should think," he continued, "that an in-depth thesis on the all the symptoms and how they fade through time would be a potion's article of some fame. It would make quite a splash with the _Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers_ , I'm sure. Especially coming from someone with the surname Dagworth-Granger. You could start by cataloguing all the changes and, most importantly, what _didn't_ change. Of course, you would have to provide pictures of the progression. I suggest a front and back picture at the start of every day, with close-ups of certain features such as the ears, eyes, tail, fingers, toes, and chest. And a sample of the potion you actually used, vetted by a Master Potioneer, would be _most_ helpful." He carefully placed two vials on her nightstand, one with a potion in it and the other with a cat hair.

"Once you have all your material, you can then select which pictures to use. You'd have to study deucedly hard, but you could take your Potions' Owl at the end of next year. Because this is a NEWT level potion you brewed, publication of the article shortly thereafter would get you your NEWT, _especially_ considering the ground-breaking nature of your thesis." He grinned at her shocked expression.

"We can explain the accident as a special project approved by Professor Snape, and that the hair was just an unexpected contamination. A Second-year, who shall remain nameless, gave you the cat hair as a prank, not realizing the seriousness of messing with polyjuice."

The cat-girl looked at him, eyes wide and ears slightly bent back. That was the cat equivalent of astonished disbelief, Harry decided, based on the way her emotions spiked.

He smiled. "Leave the git to me. He _will_ co-operate." The 'or else' was left unspoken.

"I'll be here first thing tomorrow morning, at seven, with Mr. Potter, and we'll start the first series of pictures."

As he turned away, he said, "Don't worry about the Goblins and Monday. A glamour will suffice for your appearance in public."

(◎_⊙)

"Good Morning, Miss Granger," Gilderoy said, a yawning Harry following him around the rolling curtains separating Hermione's bed from the others in the ward. Hermione blinked at them sleepily, their arrival awakening her.

"I have the camera." He held up the item. He handed it to Harry and quickly showed him how to operate it, including loading in new film, while Hermione rubbed the sleep from her eyes and sat up.

He pulled her from the bed and had Harry take a picture of them, with Gilderoy smiling broadly and Hermione looking confused.

"Excellent! Miss Granger, I took the liberty of drawing up a list of the pictures we'll need for your thesis." He moved one of the screens over to provide a neutral backdrop. "You stand there," he directed her. "Turn your back to us . . . yes, just like that. Now take off your gown." At her hesitation and horrified look, he added, "Not to worry, my dear young Witch — you are furred! We cannot see anything that you might consider embarrassing at this stage of the game. In fact, you are far better covered than any of the times that you visited the French Rivera with your parents!" At the mention of the Rivera she gave him a sharp look — how had he known they had been there? — but somewhat mollified, she complied. Gilderoy wanded the gown to her bed.

"Excellent! Harry take the first picture of her. Okay, Miss Granger, turn forty-five degrees to your left. Picture, Harry. Excellent, now another forty-five degrees for a profile. Picture, Harry. Now, Miss Granger, turn to your right so we see you at a forty-five degree angle. Picture. Another forty-five to the right for a profile. Picture, Harry."

It was at this point that Madam Pomfrey interrupted, "PROFESSOR LOCKHART! _What are you doing?"_

After his explanation and a subtle _confundus_ spell, she returned to her office mollified with the understanding that this was all in the name of advancing their understanding of Magic. Nothing naughty going on here!

"Now, Harry, a close-up of her tail. Now the tip." By the time they finished with close-ups of her ears, as well as her eyes, nose, mouth, teeth, hands, fingers, feet, and toes the little Witch so used to his commands that she didn't even bat an eye when Harry took full-frontal pictures and then moved in close for her chest. That she now had six instead of two simply provided a few more pictures and outside of a moment of stunned surprise from Harry, they finished up rather quickly. All told, Harry used up two rolls of film.

As Gilderoy explained, they didn't know exactly which pictures would be most useful, so it was better to have too _many_ than too _few_. "Be prepared" was his motto, after all. Harry would develop the pictures and put them in a well-warded filing case for Hermione's thesis.

He taught them the _Notice-Me-Not_ and silencing spells so they wouldn't be disturbed while taking the pictures.

Gilderoy snickered as he left Harry and Hermione having their breakfast. By the end of January, both children wouldn't even realize that the final week's pictures would be of the Witch completely without fur. And neither would think anything unusual about it — and _that_ should help move their relationship along!


	16. Chapter 16 Surprise!

**16\. Surprise!**

"Ah, Severus! Just the Wizard I wanted to see!" They were in the dungeons. Professor Snape hadn't been at breakfast, apparently taking it in his rooms. Gilderoy met the man just as he was leaving his office.

The Wizard scowled. He was nearly as unhappy to see Lockhart as the other was pleased to see him. Unfortunately, it being a Saturday and the holidays, he couldn't beg off claiming a class or other pressing matter.

Gilderoy steered the Potions Master back towards his office, "I have a proposal for you, one which I'm sure you will see great advantages in accepting. And you know that I, Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defence League, five-time winner of _Witch Weekly's_ Most-Charming-Smile Award, and Hogwarts' beloved Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor would never steer you wrong!" He paused for the expected fawning that most of his fans rendered unto him, but the other professor only scowled. Lockhart pretended to ignore that reaction. The pompous professor continued as if he had received the anticipated response, and raising an eyebrow in inquiry, said, "What would you say if I told you a _Second Year_ student has successfully brewed a perfect cauldron of polyjuice?"

The other sneered at him, "I would call you a liar. That is a NEWT level potion and quite out of the skill range of _any_ non-OWLed student. And I know none of the dunderheads in my Second-year classes could even come close to doing it." Disgusted, he made to move around the D.A.D.A. professor.

Lockhart lifted a small vial out of his pocket and held if before Snape's eyes, grinning widely and showing off his beautiful teeth.

Snape sighed and glared at Lockhart in a manner indicating he felt much put upon, but he took the vial and pulled out his wand. After a diagnostic spell, he looked over to Gilderoy and frowned. He cast another. Then he removed the cap and looked at the fluid. He waved his hand over the open vial and took a delicate sniff from a safe distance — some potions were too dangerous to risk sniffing directly from the mouth of their vial. He gave a measured look at the other professor as he resealed the small bottle, scepticism clear. He sneered, "From whom did you buy this?"

Gilderoy gave him another broad smile and struck a pose as he lifted his wand. "I, Gilderoy Lockart, Adventurer Extraordinaire, swear on my magic that the vial of polyjuice I just gave you was brewed by a Second Year student in Hogwarts, brewing completed yesterday, unassisted by _any_ older student, adult, or other magical creature. So Mote It Be! _Lumos_." The wand lit-up brightly.

Snape's expression changed to one of incredulity, and he again tested the vial.

" _Who_?" he demanded. If what Gilderoy had said was true then _this_ was a talent that _he_ wanted to train.

"Ah, that's the rub, my dear fellow. Before I reveal that student's identity, I need your _promise_ to listen to the complete story and my offer before making any rash decisions."

Professor Snape studied the dandy standing before him, scowling, glancing at the vial in his left hand. This had to be a trick he just knew it. He gave a small sigh, but any student capable of such a remarkable job of potioneering was a genius. It would be a real joy to have someone of that calibre in his classes. But how? How had he not noticed such an _extraordinary_ talent?

Gilderoy steered the man into his office. After sitting, he placed the vial prominently in the centre of Snape's desk, and then pulled a tiny box out of one of his pockets and put it on Snape's desk. He tapped the box with his wand and it quickly grew to a reasonable shoebox size. He leaned back in his chair, put his elbows on the arm supports, and laced his fingers together in front of him.

"This whole Chamber of Secrets fiasco has incited four students to search for the so-called Heir of Slytherin. They decided that the only thing to do was to sneak into Slytherin House and spy for information, under the mistaken impression that one Draco Malfoy was the hidden heir."

He could see that Snape anticipated where this was going — Harry Potter! The Potions Professor's face reddened in anger.

"In their infinite wisdom, they decided that the solution was to brew polyjuice. They set up their cauldron in a remote location and one of them took on the task of brewing the difficult potion. The brewing started the day after Mr. Creevey was petrified. For six weeks and six days she brewed and yesterday it was completed." He waved at the vial.

"My stolen boomslang skin!" The professor started to get to his feet.

"Ah! Wait until I finish," Gilderoy chided, "You _promised_."

Glaring, the irate professor subsided, slumping back into his chair. It was only his promise to listen to the whole story that prevented him from immediately raging out of the room and tracking down Harry and his posse, and tossing them out Hogwarts' gates.

"I, the great Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defence League, five-time winner of _Witch Weekly's_ Most-Charming-Smile Award, and Hogwarts' beloved Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor immediately noticed something was going on when they started." Oh, yeah, he was laying it on thick. "I did not survive my many remarkable adventures by not being observant, don't you know! For details, refer to my many books."

"I have quite the eye for detail, you know, finely-honed by years of tracking deadly monsters in their own home ranges." He was laying it on a bit thick just to annoy the other professor. "I have been watching the brewer at work this entire time. A simple alert charm on their hidden cauldron warned me whenever she, or anyone else, approached it." He smiled "My house-elf watched them quite closely to make sure nothing went wrong with her potion, with strict instructions _not_ to interfere." He paused. "Dobby!"

The potions professor barely changed expression as the named elf POPed into the room. Dobby was dressed quite spiffily for an elf. Instead of a ragged towel, he had what appeared to be a lavender towel worn as a mid-back-length cape and another teal thigh-length towel-set tailored as robes, with pockets, all meticulously ironed. In addition, he wore one sock of aqua blue and the other a deep reddish brown. The edge of a pair of gloves were artfully protruding from a side pocket and a handkerchief from a breast pocket. Even for a Wizard he would have been rather nattily dressed!

Gilderoy knew that this revelation of his "owning" Dobby would provoke some serious thinking on the other Wizard's part. But it was necessary.

"Yes, I hired the house-elf that Malfoy released." He gave the other Wizard an aloof expression. "The house-elf is no longer affected by the insanity of his previous owner and is quite an efficient fellow." He turned his attention to the creature, "Dobby, is _that_ the vial of polyjuice you decanted from the cauldron in Myrtle's toilets?" He pointed at the vial on the desk.

"TOILETS!?" Snape exclaimed, shock overcoming his anger. "This was brewed in a toilet stall?" He sat upright.

Dobby gave the vial a close look without touching it. "Yes, Master Lockhart, it is."

"And did you watch the brewer of this polyjuice potion every time she checked on the potion, and stirred and added ingredients?"

"Yes, Master Lockhart." Dobby was good behaviour today, not nearly as excitable as he was around Harry Potter. If he only knew!

"Did you assist the brewer in any way, shape, or form in brewing this polyjuice potion?"

"No, Master Lockhart."

"Were there any _others_ besides the brewer and her three companions who approached the cauldron while it was brewing, and did _they_ do _anything_ to it?"

"Only the ghost Moaning Myrtle saw the cauldron, and she merely looked at it, Master Lockhart. The brewer's companions sometimes checked it while she was not there, but they never did anything to it." They had carefully rehearsed what Dobby would say — only the truth, but in syntactically complete sentences without the hyperactivity he normally displayed.

Gilderoy smiled at the house-elf. "Return to your duties, please."

"Yes, Master Lockhart," Dobby said, POPing out immediately afterwards.

"Now, don't get your knickers in a bunch," the blonde-haired dandy said to the fuming Potion Master. "This," he continued, tapping the box on the desk with his wand, "contains _all_ the ingredients required for polyjuice, _including_ boomslang skin. Enough to make twelve doses." He smiled broadly as he lounged back in his chair. "Everything in the box is, of course, under a stasis spell to preserve its freshness."

"Granger!" sneered the still irate Potions Master. "I'll see her and Potter expelled for this!" He almost smiled at the thought of finally tossing Potter out on his ear. That that know-it-all Mud-blood would go with him made it all that much more satisfactory.

This had always puzzled Harry. Snape _knew_ that Harry was essential to Dumbledore's plans. Yet he persisted in this fantasy that Albus would punish Harry by forcing him to leave. Was the Wizard so far removed from reality that he couldn't see his hopes would never see fruition no matter how terribly Harry might act? Why, Harry/Gilderoy suspected Harry could _kill_ Draco and the Headmaster would dismiss it as an unavoidable accident and allow him to escape serious punishment.

"I doubt that," Gilderoy said, disparagingly. "After all, you now have your private stock replenished with double what she took, so you can't claim _that_ as a reason. In addition, when word gets out just how good of a potioness she is, others will ridicule you for allowing such a talent to escape your training. Not to mention for failing to recognize what was right in front of you." He smirked at the Wizard. "And it would be like cutting off your nose to spite your face.

"Why, I believe not even the incomparable Miss Evans could have accomplished that potion in her Second Year." It was a calculated risk, mentioning her in this context, but it should jolt the immature git into thinking twice before rejecting Gilderoy's offer outright.

Professor Snape scowled, seething inside, barely containing his fury at the popinjay daring to mention Lily. But he was right, Snape had to admit to himself. Lily, talented though she was, would have had a great deal of difficulty brewing polyjuice as a Second Year.

Lockhart could practically read his mind just from his expressions. Severus hated to admit it, but that soft-hearted old goat-shagger of a Headmaster would see the return of the ingredients as levelling the account. In fact, he would probably _award_ her points for doing it! And while he disliked the Mud-blood, if it was true that she could brew a perfect batch of polyjuice as a Second Year, to ignore her talents would call into question _his_ abilities.

"Now, instead of giving her detentions forever, as I'm sure you _burn_ to do, you should make her your assistant instead. Not apprentice, though. There are many reasons for not doing that, as you well understand. For the rest of the year, though, give her _all_ the homework assignments from the First Year students to correct."

Snape looked ready to explode.

"Just imagine how much _private_ research you can accomplish now that you no longer have to waste _three or four hours every week_ correcting the dunderheaded blatherings of incompetent and venial First Years."

Snape still looked angry, but now there was a bit of thoughtfulness in it. That _was_ an enticing offer. More time for _his_ projects. Less time wasted on incompetent and troll-like idiots.

"And you can foist off some of Madam Pomfrey's potion requests onto her, giving you more private time still. I imagine that if you kept the total time to under five hours a week, no one, least of all her, would complain. _Five hours_ to devote to your own work, _every_ week. Five hours _you_ don't have to waste monitoring detentions — she can watch them clean cauldrons as easily as yourself." Which was how the Wizard normally conducted his detentions, grading homework assignments while the students scrubbed cauldrons.

"And when your Slytherin students object? Pick the best potioneer to grade some of the other years. Once word of the tedium, and lost study time, gets out they will stop complaining."

Snape sat silent for several minutes. It wasn't hard to follow his thoughts just by observation. While he hated Harry Potter, and by extension, anyone he associated with, he didn't really hate those others except for how they wasted his time. Clearly, Granger had a talent. A talent he could use to give himself more time for _his_ projects and research.

"And next year, you can give her both First _and_ Second Year assignments to correct, giving you even _more_ time while destroying what little free time she has!"

Snape stared coldly at the D.A.D.A. professor. "Why. Why are you doing this." He paused a moment. "You didn't have to tell me this, nor replace the stolen ingredients. Nor place such a hard sell on the Witch's talents. If you had said nothing, I never would have known — suspected. But never known."

Gilderoy gave the other a chagrined smile. "Well . . . things didn't go as smoothly as they should have." He shrugged elegantly. "While the polyjuice was brewed to perfection, their plan did not go as efficiently." He sighed. "One impersonated Mr. Crabbe and snuck into the Slytherin Common Room behind Mr. Malfoy only to discover that the Wizard knew as little as they did about the Heir."

Snape was impressed in-spite of himself at their success. And farther infuriated him that they had defiled his Slytherin House.

Lockhart smiled ruefully. "Miss Granger, on the other hand, failed to acquire a hair from Miss Bulstrode, instead getting a hair from the Witch's cat."

"WHAT!" That did bring a startled expression to the other professor's face.

"Yes, she is now in the Hospital wing. A quite cute cat-girl, if I say so myself."

Snape leaned back in his chair, smirking. "Serves the little thief right!"

Harry/Gilderoy waved his hand dismissively, "That doesn't matter. Nothing a glamour can't hide until it wears off. However, what I need from you is your cooperation in fabricating a story to back her up. You see, she plans to write a thesis on her human-to-animal polyjuice accident — isn't it _interesting_ that polyjuice, which normally wears off in an hour, appears to go for weeks when an animal hair is used? When the Witch takes Arithmancy I'm sure she'll get _another_ thesis out of analysing what happened and discovering why. Between the two I'm sure she'll easily acquire both her Potions' and Arithmancy N.E.W.T.s in Sixth Year.

"I thought we could say you had a client request some polyjuice and drafted the girl to brew it as a _test_ , having noticed her _remarkable_ talent in the classroom. The cat-hair was just a bit of accidental contamination, and is a cautionary tale on verifying your materials before using them. That she is now your assistant would provide additional evidence."

"And why should I cooperate in your little _plot_?" the angry professor sneered, looking for any reason to deny Lockhart his objective.

Gilderoy smiled broadly and drew out three small vials. "Would two ounces of Basilisk blood and a quarter-ounce _each_ of Basilisk Eye Fluid and Venom be a sufficient incentive to procure your agreement?" He placed the three vials on Snape's desk. The value of the three easily totalled more than Professor Snape earned in two and a half years at Hogwarts. And certainly far more than the school's yearly ingredients' budget.

Professor Snape, it seemed, was more than willing to be of assistance. He did insist that Harry suffer a week's detention for the ingredients wasted when their pyrotechnics disrupted their class and gave Hermione time to pillage his private stock. He, of course, would change his protection enchantments so that such a tactic would fail in the future.

A small price to pay, Gilderoy thought. And wasn't Hermione going to be surprised when Professor Snape walked into the Hospital Wing and dropped off all those ungraded scrolls with the orders that she was now his grading assistant! One day of training her in what Snape expected and Snape would get many days of fruitful private potioneering in exchange. And the girl would be deliriously happy at the prospect of being a Professor's assistant!

The greasy-haired git was already planning how to use his newly created free time, the blonde ponce noticed as he left the dour Wizard's office.

A visit home to his family took the rest of the day. His mother was overjoyed to see him and quizzed him relentlessly on his new position. He told her of his adventure with the Basilisk and the coming news-story next week. He also told them he was moving them to a new home that better suited his position in life — Lord Black! His two older sisters were also visiting and he extended his offer of new homes to them, as well. They made plans to visit several House Black properties in Muggle areas, as well as contingency plans to build anew if they didn't like any of those. Nothing said they _had_ to move to an existing residence!

And they were delighted to hear that they wouldn't have to take care of their new homes themselves as he planned to make sure each had a house-elf to handle the cooking and cleaning. That this also allowed him to put up Protective Enchantments to keep them safe from Death Eaters and others jealous of his fame and fortune wasn't mentioned.

Gilderoy planned to see more of his family in the future, now that he had assured his future, and he wanted nothing to interfere with that goal.

Mr. Potter followed through Sunday morning with visiting Hermione and getting the daily pictures, according to the list Gilderoy provided. It took longer this time because they both kept referring to the list, but soon it would become a rote procedure, done automatically without much thought. Madam Pomfrey at first opposed the idea, but after consulting with Gilderoy, had no objections to Harry being the lone thesis photographer. He was, already, one of her favourite patients, with unfailing manners always following her orders to the letter. He would never do anything inappropriate she knew — especially after Gilderoy casted a suitable _confundo_ on her, of course.

Madam Pomfrey decided that Hermione, with a bit of a nudge — no spells! — from Harry/Gilderoy, could attend her classes under a glamour during the day. She had to spend the nights in the Hospital Wing, though. Harry/Gilderoy was sure Harry would sneak in under his Cloak for many of those. Nothing naughty would happen, they'd just talk and study, he was sure. Harry in Second Year was far too passive and afraid of rejection to initiate anything that others even might even remotely consider naughty. No to mention he would be terrified of bolloxing up his friendship with the little Witch. And he knew Hermione had a solid grounding in sex education and would keep things under control.

Sunday night, well after curfew, found Gilderoy sauntering up Diagon Alley towards the offices of _The Daily Prophet_. Rita was surprised to see him arrive, but relaxed when he explained, "I wanted to see tomorrow's paper tonight. And make sure we both are happy with what appears." She had smirked, she knew he would heartily approve of her block-buster articles.

While waiting for the first copies to roll off the press, Harry/Gilderoy had talked an enthusiastic Rita into giving him a tour of the printing plant. It was a simple enough matter to get her to leave him to watch over the typesetter as he laid her article to bed.

With a _Notice-Me-Not_ in place, he quickly carved a few runes into the press's ink barrel — _Trust_ , _Believe_ , and a set that made you want to _read_ the entire paper. Why he had never thought to do this for his books, he couldn't understand. Sure, he would have had to research the runes, but the pay-off was well worth the effort. Harry wouldn't let him do it now, but still . . . .

The runes, powered by Gilderoy's initial charge and without a charging rune of their own, would run down in about a week. By then, everyone would be praising him and distrustful of the Great Dumbledore. He would have to make it a habit to recharge them whenever an appropriate article appeared. Eventually, he would remove them lest someone find and abuse them. And put a few self-charging runes on the presses to remove any enchantments should any others with questionable moral try to repeat his trick with the ink.

After taking a couple of copies of the freshly printed newsparchments, he returned to Hogwarts. He debated just staying awake but decided to nap the five hours before his next appointment.

At five A.M., he arrived in the Ministry's atrium and found his way to the Aurors' offices, where he accosted a tired Wizard filling out paperwork at his desk.

"Excuse me, my good Wizard," He grinned his brilliant smile. "But I, Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defence League, five-time winner of _Witch Weekly's_ Most-Charming-Smile Award, and Hogwarts' beloved Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor, need to speak with Madam Bones, the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement."

The man stared at him, shook his head, and said, "She shan't be in until eight."

"Ah, well, that just shan't do." He pulled out a copy of _The Daily Prophet_ and showed the man the newsparchment. The man stared, astonished, at the picture and headlines dominating the front page — _Lockhart Kills Deadly Monster!_ And below that, _Mystery Monster Stalked Hogwarts' Students, One Confirmed Dead!_ And below _that_ it said, _Headmaster Befuddled for 50 Years, Did Nothing to Protect Students_. A side article's headline asked, _Is Dumbledore Senile or Incompetent?_ The Wizard reached to grab the paper to read it, but Harry put it back in his pocket — he was pleased to see his runes worked.

"I think," he continued, "That Madam Bones will be most upset if you tell her you could have warned her of this before the public saw it. And didn't."

Ten minutes later, he was sitting in her office, watching as she scowled while reading the newsparchment. It was loaded with articles about the Chamber, monsters that could kill or petrify with a look, the Four Founders, and an absolutely brilliant piece, in Gilderoy's opinion, about him and his accomplishments, including his tenure so far at Hogwarts. It was by far the best piece in the entire newsparchment.

Rita had done a masterful job researching the history of the Chamber. She had the entire fiasco involving Hagrid down pat, ridiculing both the Ministry and the previous Headmaster, Armando Dippet, for ignoring the facts and going for a simple scapegoat — Harry's memory of what Tom had shown him had helped considerably. She had then pointed out how Dumbledore, as Headmaster, had _known,_ or at the very least, _suspected_ the truth. And yet failed in every particular to correct the injustice as well protect the students in his school from being at risk from the Basilisk in the future when he became Headmaster — the least he could have done was seal up the known access point for the beast, the Witches' Toilets on the First Floor! But he had done nothing for Hagrid or the students. He had just wasted fifty years with his wand up his . . . well, Rita let the readers finish that sentence themselves.

She had then pointed out how he had done _nothing_ **_this_** year to protect the students from what he clearly knew was a dangerous beast — not even closing the toilets that he had to _know_ hid the entrance the beast had used. He had played fast and loose with their lives. Only by the most incredible luck was a student petrified instead of killed, unlike the previous time with Myrtle when someone had opened the Chamber.

 _And_ how he had been oh so content to wait until _Spring_ to cure the petrified boy and find out what had happened! It had taken the intervention of the skilled and expert Professor of the school's D.A.D.A. to acquire the proper ingredients to cure the student, at the professor's _own_ expense, no less. The famous Professor Lockhart was more concerned with the welfare of the students than the school's Headmaster! The Headmaster obviously put money ahead of worry about a student's education. Then she had gone into a rant about how little he seemed to protect the students, using last year's four attempts on Harry Potter's life as an example.

Her concluding paragraph pointed out that it took a newly-hired Gilderoy Lockhart to deduce the identity of the monster, find its lair, and deal with the threat. And Gilderoy Lockhart, brilliant world-famous celebrity though he might be, had only graduated from Hogwarts twelve years before! He was a _new-hire_ , for Merlin's sake! What was the Great Headmaster Dumbledore, the so-called greatest Wizard of the century, doing during the last fifty years that he couldn't manage this? Was he incompetent? Was he senile? Or did he know and simply _not care_ about the students? " _It seems_ ," Rita wrote, " _that Dumbledore can't be so great if a new-hire, Gilderoy Lockhart, can do what he hadn't been able to do in fifty years! Does that mean that Gilderoy is a greater Wizard than Dumbledore?_ "

Finally, the Director of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement slammed the paper down on her desk and glared at him.

He smiled wryly. "Considering that the Headmaster never told the parents that a Basilisk has been running around in Hogwarts since Halloween, I thought you might be interested.

"Bearing in mind that Dumbledore is also Grand Sorcerer; Chief Warlock of the Wizenmaggots; Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards; _and_ Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, perhaps it's just a matter of one man being stretched too far. From my understanding, each of those jobs would take the full-time attention of one Wizard, yet he is trying to do them _all_ himself. Perhaps he should pass up on three of those positions and devote his full attention to just one?

"In any case, while I am not one to tell someone else how to do their job, perhaps you should interview the Headmaster and the Hogwarts' staff today as to the situation there over the last few months. Find out what they knew, when they knew it, and what they did to safeguard the lives of your niece and the rest of the students."

From the sour expression on her face, he knew that the Headmaster was not going to be given easy, simple questions to answer.

"You know from the memories you took from Mr. Potter last November how dangerous the castle was last year to him. This year the danger seems to have expanded to include _all_ the students. Can you imagine the loss to the Wizarding world if the Basilisk had happened into the Great Hall during a Feast? An entire generation wiped out in mere seconds! And Headmaster Dumbledore never seemed worried in the slightest."

He paused, as if a new thought had struck him, "Is it possible the Headmaster was in control of the beast?" He stood as if horrified at the thought. "No, that couldn't possibly be true, he **_is_** the leader of the Light, after all." He sighed. "Maybe he is a Gray Wizard and has managed to fool us all this time." He paced back and forth across her office for a minute before sitting back down.

The Head of the D.M.L.E. looked distinctly unhappy at that thought.

"Because it is the hols, you needn't worry about disrupting the school's schedule. The Headmaster always is at breakfast, and if you arrive before the owls do, at eight A.M., you can catch him before he has seen _The Daily Prophet_ or received a warning from a friend who has seen it. Don't give him time to think up a suitable explanation and tell the rest of the staff what they should say. When he does see _The Daily Prophet_ he will already have told you his version. If his explanations are lacking when compared with the known facts . . . well, need I say more about trusting his veracity in the future?"

"To start things off," he withdrew a small vial from his pocket and placed it on the edge of her desk, "here is what happened in The Chamber of Secrets.

"I skipped some of the more mundane aspects of my confrontation — I'm sure you'll understand — I do want to put out a book of the entire experience, you know." He knew she would have several others view the memories with her, and they would spread rumours across the country, raising anticipations at seeing the rest of the week's _The Daily Prophet_. And spreading his fame that much farther.

She nodded slowly while looking at the vial of memories.

He stood, "Well, now that that's all sorted, I'll get back to Hogwarts. You should have plenty of time to review that memory and prepare an investigative team for the staff. I would suggest that the Headmaster be interviewed here at the Ministry while the staff is interviewed at the school. You might want to dispatch some Aurors to interview a few of the more important Hogwarts' children at their homes, preferably before _The Daily Prophet_ arrives to complicate things. Perhaps Mr. Longbottom, Miss Abbott, the Weasley children, Mr. Malfoy, your niece, and so forth. You needn't bother with Mr. Potter or Miss Granger, you will see them in the memories I left you. Besides, I will be conducting them to Gringotts for some unfinished business today. If you would like to speak with them, I would be _happy_ to escort them here on Tuesday.

He started towards the door. "I expect I'll see you around seven, hmm?" He stopped at the door. "Oh, by the way, that hidden room under the drawing room in the Malfoy's Manor, was it everything you had hoped to find out about Malfoy senior? Perhaps you should set an alert and tag spell on the Floo's to the Ministry watching for the Dark Mark to see if you can detect any Death-Eaters that you might not know about. Hmm?"

(⊙_◎)

Monday morning at Hogwarts was everything Gilderoy Lockhart wanted.

The Aurors, and Madam Bones, arrived at seven just as breakfast appeared on the round table the Headmaster had prepared for the holidays — Gilderoy was sure she used a time-turner to arrange everything and still get here on time. Gilderoy was the only one in attendance and he graciously invited them to dine with him while they waited for the Headmaster. Half an hour later, Albus Dumbledore strode confidently into the Great Hall. He knew, of course, the moment the Aurors had crossed the protective enchantment lines that they were here. He was unaware of any problems in the school that might require the Aurors, so he was not in any hurry to dress and meet them in the Hall.

"Ah! Madam Bones," he said as he entered, "What brings you to my illustrious school?" He smiled at her genially, eyes twinkling.

The Head of the D.M.L.E. put down her tea and stood. "Headmaster Dumbledore. Something has come up of extreme importance regarding the safety of students at Hogwarts and I wanted to discuss the matter with you at the Ministry."

"Oh? Really?" He paused a moment, his grandfatherly aspect in full force. "I assure you, Madam Bones, that all the students are completely safe at Hogwarts. Hogwarts' protective enchantments are second to none in Europe. Hogwarts is the _safest_ place in the world," he quietly affirmed, smiling reassuringly at her.

"Interesting," she said, "Because I have it on good authority that there has been a Basilisk wandering the halls of Hogwarts since September. _That_ certainly doesn't sound _safe_ to me. Especially when we know for a fact that the creature has killed a student in the past."

Dumbledore's eyes flicked to look at Gilderoy before staring at Witch. "I assure you that the students are safe, Madam Bones. There have been no student fatalities in the school in many decades, and certainly _none_ this year."

She tilted her head slightly. "True, no student fatalities, but you have lost a distressing number of Defence Against the Dark Arts teachers over the last two decades. Not even the Ministry has had as many Wizards die in the building as has Hogwarts. Doesn't sound too safe to me. Besides, how can you call Hogwarts 'safe' after the four attempts last year and one this year to kill Mr. Potter? A _safe_ environment does not include regular attempts to kill a student."

The Headmaster sighed in the manner one does when being put-upon by others for matters that really are trivial. "My I break my fast first?" He waved his hand at the table.

"Certainly, Headmaster. After all, we aren't here to _arrest_ you; we'd just like you to enlighten us about certain events."

The other Professors, and several students, wandered in for breakfast over the next half hour, looking nonplussed at seeing the Aurors at the now slightly larger table.

Twenty-five minutes later, the four Wizards and one Witch headed out of the Great Hall towards the Headmaster's Office. They intended to use his floo to go to the Ministry. Dumbledore had wanted to do the interview here, at the school, but Madam Bones prevailed upon him, stating there were a number of people who would be in on the interview and it was easier to move one of him than several of them. Unstated was that there would be Unspeakables at the meeting, and they were notorious for not wanting to leave their headquarters.

Barely ten minutes later, several owls came winging into the Great Hall.

Gilderoy placed an entire platter of bangers in front of the owl delivering his copy of _The Daily Prophet_ as he snatched the paper from owl's leg. The picture dominating the top of the page was almost perfect for Gilderoy. The three adventurers were standing in front of the serpent doors to the Chamber, with a giant question-mark floating to the side.

Proper preparation is the key to success, and he had made sure the three of them had faced away from the wall/doors back the way they had come, while he had pointed to the snakes over their heads. A perfect pose for a picture he knew the paper would use from the memories they provided. He made it look as if he were merely pointing out their progress so far.

" _My word_!" Professor McGonagall exclaimed while staring at her copy of the rag. Professor Sinistra was staring at him over her copy. Similar exclamations came from the rest of the staff. Harry and Hermione, after a quick look at the cover picture had both blushed bright red. The other students were soon oohing and ahing, as they shared reading the two copies they had received.

Moments later a squad of Aurors came in and confiscated the newsparchments, explaining to the protesting Professors and students, "Sorry, but these are part of an investigation into things here at Hogwarts. We need to question you all _before_ you read _The Daily Prophet_ to prevent it from accidentally affecting your interviews." They grumbled, but agreed to finish their breakfasts and begin the interviews. The Aurors would interview the students only in the presence of their Head of House, after they had interviewed Heads.

Gilderoy, of course, preened under the attention. He started nattering on about how dangerous it was and how he had ensured that his two students were always perfectly safe. When pressed for more details about what was in the Chamber and what had happened, he demurred and said he didn't want to taint their testimony. Instead, he told them more details would appear in tomorrow's edition. Likewise, he mentioned nothing about what had happened previously in the year; he didn't want to prejudice the statements the others would be making.

It was a bit of a tease. Tomorrow's edition was about how he had reasoned out what the creature was and how to get at it. And how the great Boy-Who-Lived had helped. Wednesday would be an in-depth story about the history of the Chamber and events this year, with a teaser showing part of the inside of the Chamber. Thursday would show-case his battle with the Basilisk in Chamber with Friday as a follow-up on the reaction of Wizarding England.


	17. Chapter 17 Manipulations

**17\. Manipulations**

While he would have preferred a much larger audience at Hogwarts, knowing that all his students were at home telling stories to their parents of his exploits made it easy to let that go. Reading about the monster while their children extolled his virtues would boost his popularity out of sight.

Actually, it being the hols, it was better than if school were in session!

The attention he attracted while escorting Hermione and Harry through Diagon Alley did a double duty of showing-the-flag and acknowledging his fans while simultaneously providing a visual of how he was mentoring The-Boy-Who-Lived. And feeding those rumours that the two children were dating. The normal five-minute walk took almost half an hour. Poor Harry looked as if he wanted to melt through the ground to escape.

The Grangers, having met them outside The Leaky Cauldron, were suitably impressed with Lockhart, and their daughter's new station in life. Her new robes were quite impressive.

They had been stunned at the financial and property statements they received by owl from Hermione on Wednesday last. It turned out that Lord Dagworth-Granger had invested in a few businesses that were still operating, or other companies had taken them over them and were obligated to continue paying dividends. There was a modest ten thousand galleons in her vault. It would be more than sufficient to renew the protective enchantments on her properties, should she desire.

Gilderoy had already noticed that while Hermione's hands retained most of their human characteristics, except the nails more nearly resembled claws and were retractable. Her feet, however, seemed more feline-patterned. That is, she walked on her toes with her heels elevated. This made her a bit taller and gave her a rather elegant slinky cat-like walk, while her hips had an exaggerated and very sexy roll as she moved. Harry had also taken note, and suggested in a whisper when they had left Hogsmeade that they should take a few pictures of her walking for her thesis.

Gilderoy snickered. Hermione was just going to have to get used to Harry staring at her bum as she walked — not to mention all the other male students. And probably invest in a few high-heeled shoes to explain her sudden height increase when the transformation finally wore off. He had already altered her current shoes to fit, to accustom her to wearing that style.

Fortunately, the crowd at Diagon Alley distracted her parents too much for them to notice the changes in their daughter. Gilderoy planned to correct that during the day by "accidentally" _finiting_ the glamour. He was sure Sirius would wet himself laughing when he saw the pensieve memory.

Harry's first property was a modest twenty-room London townhouse. The second was a forty-room mansion and country estate in Wales. The country estate had a full potions workshop, a pool, and an extensive library that required they bodily drag Hermione out of it. The French estate was another forty-room mansion not far from the French Rivera, with several hundred acres of vineyard surrounding it. The income from the wine sales easily maintained all the properties and their needs. And kept his vaults growing. At Gilderoy's suggestion, Harry gave the Granger's several cases of the best years' wines, delivered to the Grangers' home by house-elf.

It was at their noon dinner that Gilderoy started _slowly_ removing the glamour. They were almost to dessert when Mrs Granger said, "Hermione! What's happening to you?"

Hermione looked down at her furred hand and dropped her fork, giving her mother a wide-eyed look of astonishment. Mr. Granger was staring just as wide-eyed.

"Ah," Lockhart said nonchalantly, "Nothing to worry about Mrs Granger. That's just Lady Granger's glamour wearing off. I'll restore it later. She had a minor potion accident on Christmas that temporarily changed her into a cat." He smiled winningly at the startled parents. "Rather fortuitous, actually. No one has ever attempted a human-to-cat potion transformation, it was considered too dangerous as the potion was designed only for human-to-human." Her parents looked even unhappier at this declaration.

"It's quite an _opportunity_ for the young Lady to establish herself in the potions community," he continued, smirking at their expressions. "First, because she is just a Second Year and has yet managed to brew a potion normally only taught to Seventh Year students — and many of them _cannot_ succeed with it." He quirked an eyebrow at them to give them a moment to grasp her skill. "Second, because the thesis she is planning to write about her transformation and her experiences will be a true ground-breaker in an area no one has _ever_ researched." He smiled proudly, "I expect that her success in brewing this most difficult potion will give her opportunities she had never foreseen." He leaned back in his chair with an air of satisfaction, as if he were responsible for her achievement.

"For example, her Potions Professor, Master Potioneer Severus Snape, has made her his assistant. Something he has _never_ done before." The parents' expression were slowly changing from alarmed to confused as they tried to sort the implications of both danger and reward. And the fact that their daughter was a _cat_!

Hermione's expressions were difficult to read during this explanation but her emotions ranged from horror, to pride, to embarrassment. Yes, you can see a cat blush under all that hair, Gilderoy discovered.

Her mum delayed their dessert by dragging Hermione off to a bathroom to "check" things out. Her father just ate his dessert, shaking his head periodically. Whether to clear his thoughts or in shock, Gilderoy wasn't sure. Mrs. Granger returned with a shocked expression, switching to a little smile at odd moments. She even managed to look wistful one time while looking at her husband with a crooked smile. She also kept petting her daughter.

The Dagworth-Granger estate was a much more modest fifteen-room building with a potions workshop that filled the entire basement. Unfortunately, while some of the potions were under a stasis charm, the majority were age-ruined. The equipment, however, was perfect and Hermione pillaged a complete set of potion preparation tools from the stock for use at Hogwarts. If she was going to be Snape's assistant, she'd better have the best tools possible! Again, they had to drag her out of the library. She did snag a duplicate original first-edition to give to Snape.

Gilderoy was correct; the Dagworth-Granger estate protective enchantments were in dire need of upgrading.

The day passed quickly, and Hermione's parents adjusted to seeing their cat-daughter with varying degrees of astonishment gradually easing into curiosity and pride at their daughter's accomplishment. Before they returned to Gringotts Lockhart restored the glamour and they spent the rest of the afternoon examining their finances. They decided that selling selected books from the Dagworth-Granger estate, after copying them of course, would easily fund the upgrades to the protective enchantments. They left it to the Goblins to arrange both. They finished with tea at a Muggle restaurant not far from The Leaky Cauldron.

(⊙_⊙)

The Headmaster was in his office, staring at the stack of _Daily Prophet'_ s lying on his desk. That pompous popinjay fraud Lockhart had somehow turned into an accomplished hero at his, Albus's, expense! Dumbledore _knew_ the man was a fraud; two of his acquaintances had had their memories stolen from them for his books. He had discovered this when he noticed that one of the memory-thief's books bore an uncanny resemblance to a story a friend had told him several years before. When he had owled that Wizard with questions, the man had denied any memory of the event. He remembered Lockhart visiting him, but that was all. The other friend reported a similar experience.

A bit more research had revealed the Wizard to be a complete fraud, all of his stories based on experiences of other people. He had stolen their memories for profit! Which seemed to fit in perfectly with his work in Hogwarts as a student, nearly failing in all subjects and only learning those things that would make him look good to his peers.

But this! This was beyond the belief. Almost from the first day, Lockhart had behaved differently than before. Yes, he still seemed to be a self-centred rake, turning every conversation into a platform for bragging and self-aggradation. But there were jarring instances where he was stunningly competent.

His interactions with Harry had been laughable; as he seemed to interpret everything the boy did as Harry trying to copy the grown Wizard's fame. And his detentions had been just as farcical, with long diatribes about Lockhart's books and successes, and how to curry favour with the media and public. But then there had been Neville Longbottoms' _patronus_. Never in all his years had the Headmaster heard of someone so young successfully casting that spell. Yet Lockhart had taught it to him, and delivered a very effective lecture on magic in the process. _Totally_ out of character.

But then he had accused Ron of being a sadomasochist. When that was pointed out as foolish, he had suggested that Draco and Ron were somehow attracted to each other. While there was nothing wrong with such proclivities, the political damage to both families, should a rumour about the two associating with each other gain wide circulation, was incalculable. And it was patently obvious that the two were _not_ romantically involved! But the ponce _insisted_ on spreading that rumour.

But while he and Snape could look into their minds and know the boys hated each other, the rest of the staff and school had no such assurances. And rumours of the two having a dalliance could ruin his plans for Harry — simultaneously separating the friendship of Ron and Harry while lessening the antagonism between Harry and Draco. But it was such a _typical_ thing for Lockhart to blurt out.

But his involvement with this Lily Foundation was another story. How he had convinced Potter to co-operate was a mystery. And having the proceeds go to students at Hogwarts brought the boy positive press and put the boy in a good light for the public. That was a problem. He had to keep the boy isolated and dependent upon him. Unfortunately, he couldn't object publically without compromising his position as magical guardian — people would question why he had allowed the Muggles to abuse the boy. Claiming he never thought to check, and being unable to explain why he hadn't taught the child about his heritage, would get his guardianship revoked for incompetence. And that would turn into a major political fight as every heavy-hitter in Wizarding England would demand and fight for custody! The only positive to that situation was that he didn't have to worry about Malfoy getting his hands on the boy. And Narcissa seemed completely uninterested in the famous boy.

Albus knew that Lockhart was somehow involved in the destruction of the Malfoys. From the third richest family in Britain to barely above commoners was a breathtaking plunge in financial fortunes in a mere few weeks. How Lockhart had done it was a mystery, but, before his death, Lucius had insisted the man had tricked him into ruin over House points — and that made no sense whatsoever.

And so his favourite foil in the Wizengamot was gone, leaving many of his plans in disarray.

And amid his buffoonish attitude, Lockhart still managed to garner headlines! Accusing Draco of murder, and then sneaking Harry out to an interview with Rita Skeeter. The bad press for Dumbledore wasn't anything he couldn't handle, but it wasted his time dealing with those piddling problems and reassuring his followers, especially those at the edges.

Then the nitwit actually _found_ the lost Ravenclaw Diadem. That was great press for Hogwarts, but Rita had managed to turn it into asking why the great Dumbledore hadn't found the diadem first! As if _he_ had time to waste searching for a useless artefact such as that. He had more important things to do.

The fiasco with that cursed diary had cost him the support of the Weasleys, perhaps permanently. Lockhart anticipating his actions had prevented him from hiding the facts before anyone noticed. And while Dumbledore was a master at wandless silent magic casting, staring at the tip of Lockhart's already glowing wand had denied him the time for any reaction at all except acceptance. And once given, the vow prevented him from acting immediately to retain his most devoted followers.

Their daughter hadn't been _that_ badly damaged by the possession, but his hesitance to assist her had further alienated the Weasleys. And had them call into question his competence. It would take time and effort to recover his position with them, but he could do it. A few compulsion charms, a bit of help here and there, and sooner or later they would fall back into his control. But in the meantime, he was without their unconditional support. And every time he spoke with Arthur about things in the Ministry and the Wizengamot, the Wizard kept him at a sceptical distance, questioning his reasons for every little proposed action.

While Albus started repairing his damaged reputation, Gilderoy had once more appeared an incompetent oblivious idiot. Except — he had shown a rather remarkable duelling ability during that first Dueling Club meeting. That he had managed to secure a tea date with McGonagall had been surprising, but then Dumbledore had never understood the dynamics of how Witches and Wizards interacted. Voldemort he could easily predict, Witches? Not at all.

And now this. The Chamber of Secrets. He had thought _that_ a secret will kept. No one else knew where the entrance was, nor the creature contained in it. Lockhart's pretensions to knowing both had been laughable, and he knew the Wizard had never been even close to Myrtle's toilets in his so-called investigations of the castle.

But now? Lockhart had found it, entered it, and apparently killed the creature! Dumbledore had already been to the entrance this morning, to find still sealed but now concealed behind a simple _Notice-Me-Not_ spell as well. The pictures in _The Daily Prophet_ proved he had been down there.

And the fall-out from _The Daily Prophet_ articles continued relentlessly. Not a day went by that didn't record several howlers berating him for endangering the students so recklessly! Even his so-called allies were keeping their distance and not responding to his floo-calls or owls. In a matter of days, he had lost much of his prestige and influence.

Madam Bones had been thorough, and damn her for getting to him before he had a chance to see those bloody articles in _The Daily Prophet_. Only after the interview, which had taken all morning, did he see a copy of that worthless rag. And by then it was too late, people had already started talking with each other and comparing experiences. By Friday, he had managed to retain his position as Headmaster only after promising to resign his positions as Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot and as Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards. And the former had beaten a vote removing him from the office by only a few hours.

A deadly blow to his influence both internal to England and to the world. Especially as everyone saw it as a rebuke of his handling of Hogwarts! Fools, all of them were fools. They didn't understand that the being Headmaster of Hogwarts gave him the power to control the future generations of the Wizarding World. Just look how he had so masterfully arranged things to become the most influential Wizard in the World, looked up to by almost the entire Wizarding World! He couldn't have done _that_ if he were simply the Supreme Mugwump or Chief Warlock — it had taken several generations of convincing Hogwarts students of his greatness that had led to his establishing himself as a great Wizarding statesman.

And now, here was that fraud Lockhart undoing _decades_ of work in a matter of days. Well, appearances were deceiving. While to the public he had lost influence, to the movers behind the scenes he was still a powerful force, crossed at one's own peril. He would claw his way back into power just you wait! In another decade, he will have regained those lost positions and be even more powerful.

Lockhart was a dangerous Wizard, hiding behind a façade of incompetence as a dandy. The Headmaster couldn't directly attack the man without doing damage to himself — after all, he _had_ hired the man. And just look at how well the Wizard was finding things and saving students!

If he tried any attacks at this stage of the game, direct or indirect, they would come off as jealousy or revenge for "perceived" slights and harm only himself. He would have to wait for the furore to die down. In the meantime, he would start rumours about the Wizard's book being stolen memories from other Wizards and Witches. For some, it would ruin their reputations, for what Wizard or Witch wants everyone to know they were the victim of a fraud and cheat? But it was for the Greater Good, after all.

In all the fuss and bother of the Basilisk and the resulting scrutiny of his actions, or non-actions, he missed the small Ministry announcement towards the back of one of _The Daily Prophets_ declaring that Houses Slytherin, Black, Gryffindor, Peverell, Gaunt, and Potter now had sitting Lords in the Wizengamot.

(◎_⊙)

Gilderoy waited outside the Hospital Wing doors and watched as Harry reluctantly left. Curfew would hit in a few minutes and Gilderoy knew Harry planned to hide in a classroom and sneak back to visit with Hermione some more after Madam Pomfrey went to sleep in an hour or so. It was all harmless "petting" at this stage — literally. Gilderoy knew from his passive _legilimens_ that Hermione loved Harry's attention, especially when he scratched her between her ears and on the back of her neck. She wasn't sure what to think about the feeling she got when he scratched at the base of her tail, but they sure were nice! As were the feelings when they compared how her new chest accessories compared to her originals. She resolutely decided not to think about those feeling, and only recorded the results of their investigations in her journal.

They spent most of their time in the Hospital Wing with her telling him about her family and their vacations. He told her only a tiny fraction about the Dursleys.

Harry/Gilderoy waited until Harry was out of sight before removing his disillusionment spell and slipping into the Hospital Wing. He walked quietly to her bed hidden behind screens to provide her privacy. He didn't quiet his actual footsteps, so she wasn't startled when he knocked politely on the edge of one screen stand.

"Good evening, Professor Lockhart," she said, surprised that he came to see her.

"Good evening, Miss Granger." He studied her in the soft candle light. She was reading a book, of course, preparing for the upcoming classes when they started tomorrow. She looked back at him questioningly. The glamour had worn off, so she was her catty self. She and Harry were reapplying the glamour throughout the day every day, as practice for when the other students returned. It would tire them out doing that spell, but it would be good exercise for their magic cores. They both would come out of this stronger than their peers. He hoped to have them doing it silently and wandlessly by the end of the month. If someone hit her with a _finite_ and accidentally revealed her form, they planned to explain it as a prank by the twins.

He sat at the bottom corner edge of the bed facing her, eschewing using the chair. He gave a discrete wave of his wand and put up privacy charms around them. Now, no one could listen, or would even realize he was there talking with her.

"Did you feel those, Miss Granger? You should. You certainly can. It will come with practice. The next time you see someone cast a spell; look for the feel of it on your skin. Some spells will leave a taste in your mouth, others a smell —the result of your brain trying to describe sensations for which it has no references. Most will make your skin seem to move ever so slightly, telling you what was cast and from where. At first, have friends cast the spells on you with your eyes closed. Wait for the _feel_ of the magic. Mr. Potter does that instinctively."

She nodded, her fingers twitching as if she wanted to write down what he had said.

He sighed, a stab of jealousy hitting him. For all the fame and money he had and was going to get in the future, he would never again possess what Harry and Hermione would have. He _missed_ his Hermione. And McGonagall and Sinistra could never measure up, not even together. Hermione's devotion to Harry was unlike any Witch's regard for Gilderoy.

On the other hand, if he succeeded, this Hermione and Harry would have the life they deserved. And with her newfound House and his Houses, they would have an interesting life. Not as interesting as Harry/Gilderoy's, rather boring by comparison, he thought. But boring was the life that Harry had always wanted. The life Harry/Gilderoy would have would be a compromise, neither quite pleased with the result, but preferable to the alternative — especially after he revealed to the pompous poser, the original Gilderoy Lockhart stuck in his head, what _would_ have happened to him at the end of this year. Anything was better than being a _permanent nobody_ in the Spell Damage Ward at St. Mungos!

He smiled at her wryly, "Ah, Miss Granger, how I wish _I_ were your age. I would be giving Mr. Potter a real run for his money. You are a prize well worth pursuing." He extended a passive probe to pick up her emotions. He wanted to do this very carefully, her emotions would provide him the guide he needed.

She stared at him wide-eyed, stunned that anyone would regard her as someone worth chasing, blushing furiously at the idea her idol would feel that way towards her.

"Oh, come now, Miss Granger, did you _really_ think no one realizes how knowledgeable and powerful you are? You understand spells faster than anyone else. You're always the very first to cast a new spell. And while not as powerful as some, knowing how to use the spell _correctly_ is better than sheer _power_ in many situations. And now you're Professor Snape's assistant! Even Mr. Potter has noticed!"

She gave him a disbelieving look.

"Speaking of Mr. Potter, in case you haven't realized, and I think you suspect it, he is quite taken with you. As you already know, he is more than willing to risk his life for you. No greater devotion can be possible. And, in fact, he's going to sneak in here shortly just to be with you, although he will pretend it is just because you are friends and you're in the Hospital Wing, and not because he fancies you."

She blinked up at him from the bed. Reading her expressions was difficult under all that fur, but at least the forward tilt to her ears indicated her interest in what he had to say. That and her emotions clearly revealed her interest.

"What I am about to tell you is in the strictest of confidences. I shan't ask for an oath, just your promise that you shan't reveal what I'm about to tell you."

"Of course, Professor Lockhart," she said, eyes shining and pride growing at the thought he would confide in her. He was, after all, her favourite teacher, surpassing even Professor McGonagall. He was a great teacher, he cared about his students, and he was an accomplished author. He had fought a Basilisk just last week! As an idol, he was perfect for her. And she was star-struck on him something terrible. But she also knew he was an adult and would never see her as anything other than a child and a student. Harry, on the other hand . . . .

"Do you _like_ Mr. Potter?"

She cast her gaze down on the bedspread, "Professor Lockhart!" she said, sightly scandalized and no doubt blushing. She was definitely feeling embarrassed at being caught. She looked back up at him. It was easy for the Witch to separate her admiration for her Professor from how she felt about her very best friend who had risked his _life_ for her.

He raised an eyebrow.

Finally, she said, "Yes," albeit quietly. "But just as a friend," she added quickly. She liked him more than she was willing to let on, he could feel.

He grinned at her, "Would you be opposed to being his girlfriend?"

She stared up at him, clearly caught in a quandary, wary hope spiking in her emotions. "But he doesn't like me like that," she said by way of reply.

"But he does."

She narrowed her eyes, "How do you know that?" she half-whispered. Her emotions swirled, happy at the possibility, worried he was wrong. And while she looked up to the accomplished and published Gilderoy, _Harry had saved her life!_ And treated her like a real person.

He took a deep breath and slowly let it out. "Mr. Potter has not had a good childhood."

She blinked, frowning at the apparent non-sequitur.

"His family, if you can call it that, actually detest the very sight of him. They have abused him, both emotionally and otherwise."

She leaned back in shock, outrage present in her emotions. How could a family do that? She had suspected things were not as they should be with him, but to have it confirmed . . . .

"He does not know the meaning of love, having never _seen_ it nor experienced it. The only emotion he knows how to show is _anger_ , with which he has plenty of experience. Think back to how he stiffens up when you hug him, how he avoids direct contact with anyone, how he keeps distance between himself and everyone else.

"If someone is within arm reach, they are close enough to hit him, so he carefully keeps just outside that reach. To him, close means pain is coming.

"You and Mrs. Wealsey are the _only_ two who have ever hugged the boy. No loving mother has ever kissed him goodnight on the forehead, no loving father has praised him for doing well. No parent had ever hugged him and told him he is loved.

"Instead, his Aunt has always coldly ordered him to bed and his Uncle violently reprimanded him for achieving better scores than his idiot cousin. There's nothing like being hit with a frying pan or beaten until you can't stand to dissuade you from doing your homework or outscoring your cousin on a test."

"You know he isn't stupid, but he's been trained to never do better than his cousin, and that fear of excelling has now extended to Mr. Weasley. You are an excellent student that anyone smart would use as a model for success, but Mr. Weasley is a lazy, selfish, arse. And that is what Mr. Potter is limiting himself to out of reflex — Mr. Weasley, even though his envy has put him at a distance. Harry's afraid that if he does better, that if he were to challenge you for status as top student . . . well, he firmly believes that his only remaining friend, you, will leave him.

"You can fix that, if you want."

Her mouth fell open in shock.

"He loves you, but he has no idea that he does. He has no yardstick with which to measure it. But, really now, how close do you want to be to someone that you would sneak into the Hospital Wing nightly just to talk with her?

"To him, like and love have little meaning, emotionally. If he understood what it was to _like_ someone, he would tell you how much he likes _you_. Unfortunately, as you may have noticed, he has no social skills _at all_. His cousin saw to that, chasing away and beating up any who showed the boy kindness or offered friendship."

Her emotions roiled in outrage.

"You are, quite literally, the _first_ girl he has ever had as a friend, and he has spoken more to you in the last month than to all the girls, and boys, he has _ever_ known. And you are only the _second_ person _ever_ to accept him as a friend. The first was Mr. Weasley. And so he treats you the way he would treat another boy, because he doesn't know any better.

"He divides people into those he trusts and those he does not. He trusts you as he trusts no one else. And while Mr. Ron Weasley is his best friend and he trusts him, he already knows the boy is jealous of his fame and his money, so he downplays and hides both so as not to lose the very _first_ friend he has ever had. And you can see how well that is turning out!

"But Mr. Weasley is a bad influence on Mr. Potter, as you know. Skiving off studying and homework just to play chess or exploding snap is not how you become a great Wizard or Witch, but it is what the lazy Mr. Weasley wants to do. And so he drags Harry down to his level by distracting him from schoolwork. And Harry, afraid to lose his only male friend, endeavours to stay at that level instead of excelling as he could do if he tried only a little bit. He has even remained quiet in the face of some of Mr. Weasley's criticisms of you in order to keep the peace with the other boy." Lockhart shook his head sadly, "Please forgive him for those lapses."

She half-nodded, mulling over what he had said and seeing the truth in his description of Ron's friendship and its impact on Harry's studies. Anger at his relatives' treatment echoed in the background.

"What you must do is wean him away from Mr. Weasley by providing _incentives_ to stay with you, Mr. Longbottom, and Miss Lovegood. Simply telling him he needs to study or do homework shan't do the job.

"Ask him to teach you how to fly, and then make _that_ the reward for doing well — you'll spend time with him flying. He will love you for it, even if he doesn't know that's what you call that feeling."

She was shaking her head. Fear of flying almost overcame her hope at being with Harry.

He smiled at her. "I know you dislike flying on a broom, Miss Granger, but you should regard it as a necessary life skill. You don't have to be able to do a Wronski Feint, but you should be able to ride well enough to escape an attack by a Dark Wizard. You wouldn't want to watch Harry _die_ just because you couldn't fly a broom, now would you?

"And as to Dark Wizards, remember that Voldewhore possessed Professor Quirrell last year. Next time he might just succeed in returning, putting _all_ your lives in danger. One day, being able to fly well on a broom might save both your lives, because Harry will _never_ willingly abandon you."

She nodded her head again, still wide-eyed.

"In fact, Miss Granger, I shall make that a D.A.D.A. homework assignment for the class. By the end of the term, I want you to be able to fly well enough to be a Quidditch Chaser! Failing to fly well will knock your grade down!" At her horrified and appalled look, he added, "For a quick pickup game, not as for a professional or House team." He paused, "Unless you want to, that is.

"And Mr. Potter will be _thrilled_ to help you do that. He enjoys flying as a truly liberating experience, where _all_ his worries go away. Just watch his face sometime when he is flying and you will soon understand. He plays Quidditch for the excuse to fly. He doesn't understand that he has the right to go flying whenever he wants.

"I suggest you ask Mr. Longbottom and Miss Lovegood to join the two of you, if Mr. Potter agrees, that is. They, too, could do with the practical aspect of learning how to fly properly. Tell them I suggested that they join you."

He stopped and thought a moment. "Well, we seem to have gotten off track a bit." He smiled at her again, "What I _really_ wanted to tell you is that if you want Mr. Potter to be your boyfriend, _you_ will have to _tell_ him that he's your boyfriend. He will _never_ believe that a girl would _want_ to be his girlfriend, so he will never think to ask, no matter how obvious you make it to him what you want. In matters of the heart, Mr. Potter is blind. It is up to _you_ to show his heart how to _see_."

She frowned, but hope was filling her heart.

"Remember, he has never seen any examples of how a true couple should act, and his relatives have beaten into him the belief that he is not good enough for anything good or nice to happen to him. It's why he is so reckless with his life, rushing in where others fear to tread — to him, his life is always worth less than the one he is trying to save. He feels no one would miss him should he die, yet he knows he would be upset and unhappy if someone else were to die when he could have prevented that. And he fears everyone would blame him for the other's death because he didn't prevent it.

"You must counteract that by showing him that _his_ life is worth just as much as anyone else's. Show him that he is _just_ as valuable a person as anyone else."

She nodded slowly, determination evident.

"Watch his expression carefully when you grab his hand tomorrow morning on the way to breakfast and you _tell_ him he is your boyfriend because only _he_ is good enough for that position. He will try to tell you that you are mistaken. He shan't understand why anyone would want _him_ as a boyfriend. Don't take no for an answer.

"You can tell him that if he wants, you will be his girlfriend until the end of term and then if he doesn't want to continue, well, you can both call it off." He could feel the spike of fear from her when he said that. "But that shan't happen unless you drive him away with jealousy. Other girls will vie for his attention, and put you down as unsuitable. _Especially_ when they discover his multiple Lordships.

"They will be jealous of you, so ignore them. And should anyone, no matter how highly placed, tell you not to write to him over the summer, ignore them. They are trying to make Mr. Potter feel that he has no friends — remember what Dobby did to his mail over the summer? And how _you_ felt when _your_ letters went unanswered?

"Whatever you do, do _not_ believe any rumours you may hear. _Always_ talk with Harry first. Remember, he has no social skills. He may make a mistake, or ten, because he simply doesn't _know_ any better, so be ready to forgive him.

"That will be especially hard to do considering he is the Head of House for three important Houses and it will be expected of him to have wives to supply heirs for those lines, or to blood-adopt children for the same. And when the other Witches hear about the other Houses, well, you'll have you work cut out for you! Unless, of course, _you_ select those other girlfriends before someone you dislike imposes themselves. Perhaps Miss Lovegood and Miss Weasley? Both are impressionable and you would find both rather easy to live with. And Miss Lovegood's creatures? She sees auras and apparently likes to name certain transitory features, the child in her thinking them separate magical creatures. Or perhaps they really _are_ pure-magic creatures that only she can see, who is to know the truth?

"But, remember, no matter what happens _you_ will always be first in his heart."

She was watching and listening to him carefully.

"Hmm. Maybe you should tell him tonight when he sneaks in here to be with you that you want to be his girlfriend. A kiss on the cheek would not be out of order. Perhaps a kiss every morning when he takes your thesis pictures. In week, move from his cheek to a quick peck on his lips. And a warning about what the other Witches will do when they discover his House situation.

"And you needn't worry about him taking advantage of you, he will be too terrified of ruining your friendship, of chasing you away forever. So, you will have to initiate things every step of the way. You want him to kiss you on the lips? _You_ will have to kiss him first so he knows it's okay. You want him to hug you? _Tell_ him that's what will make you happy.

"He has no idea how to treat a girl, so you will need to coach him in the particulars. Be patient and let him know the _real_ decisions are up to him. _Do_ tell him that if he brags to his friends about private things you do together that you will be extremely _disappointed_ in him. All those things he hears the older boys saying about their girlfriends should be private, and it shows that the boys have no regard for their girlfriends. Plus, and most importantly, it shows that they are incapable of being _trusted_ to keep secrets. Be sure to point that out, explicitly.

"Trust me, it will work out as long as you take the forefront in matters of emotion and let _him_ make his own decisions on how to follow through. Use _rewards_ to get him to improve in school. No bossing around! Use 'please' a lot. And let him go off with Mr. Weasley when he feels he must, you do not want to force him to choose between yourself and Mr. Weasley. _Never, ever,_ give an ultimatum about _anything_ unless you are _willing_ to accept that he might choose _against_ you and you lose everything because of your or his pride. And make sure Mr. Potter knows when Mr. Weasley has hurt you with his words."

He left the Hospital Wing behind, headed for his rooms. He left Hermione in a mess of conflicting emotions, fear that her professor might be wrong, hope that he wasn't, fury with Harry's relatives for damaging the boy so much, and determination to do what she could to help him.

Harry/Gilderoy would monitor the two closely for a while, nudging the witch as needed, restraining her if she became overbearing. No matter what, it would be better than what he had gone through with Ron and Hermione in _his_ future.

And he was right, he received quite a few party invitations for the New Year's celebrations. He graciously attended several, floo-ing between them, before midnight struck. It was a very profitable evening, from Gilderoy's point of view. Harry Lockhart was almost bored to tears.


	18. Chapter 18 One Secret Too Many

**18\. One Secret Too Many**

It was mid-January, three weeks after the story broke about the Basilisk, and things had quieted down at both the school and elsewhere. He was amazed that no one had noticed the Ministry announcement about the Lordships. Or, perhaps, the smart ones were merely waiting to see why the announcements were so low-key. Usually, Houses made a big deal, with lots of pomp and circumstance, when investing a new Lord as Head of House.

It was time, Lockhart decided, to stir the cauldron once more.

As he had known would happen, Hermione's fur was slowly disappearing. She had taken his advice and acquired high-heel shoes to explain her sudden increase in height, but hadn't yet realized she no longer needed them. The constant cat-walking on her toes had transitioned to wearing the high-heels out of habit — Harry was not the only one to notice the way her robes swayed as she walked, and how her hands hit her hips. And the fact that she now had a beautiful smile of perfect teeth. Unfortunately, Mr. Weasley was not one of those to be so observant. He persisted in arguing with and insulting her. His relationship with Harry was almost as tumultuous. Already, they were drifting apart and Harry was finding it difficult to keep his friendship on an even keel.

Gilderoy's talk with Mr. Weasley at the Ministry had apparently made its way to the twins because they suddenly took to sitting with Ron between them, carefully monitoring, and correcting, his eating habits. When questioned during a detention taken from Snape, Harry told Gilderoy that the twins had sworn an oath to their younger brother to cease using him as a test subject for their pranks. Otherwise, the poor berk would have been terrified to eat anything in such close proximity to them. The twins pulling their brother aside at meals also put a barrier between the two erstwhile friends. It had also given the red-headed boy something to complain about to Harry that didn't involve Hermione.

The Weasley parents had also given Percy a dressing down it appeared. He was much less officious during his rounds as a Prefect. And he seemed to be writing home much more frequently, making it a point that Ginny included a message every time his owl headed that way.

Hermione's assistantship to Snape had stunned the school, and she had spent the entire afternoon and evening that first day after the other students returned from holidays correcting homework assignments the Firsties had all turned in to Professor Snape. Not knowing exactly what to expect, she had read them all first, then sorted them into piles separated by how much the homework actually said compared to what Professor Snape had told her he expected — he had written a sample "perfect" assignment for her reference. Only then did she start grading them, rereading them again. Continuing that would cut quite heavily into her time with Harry, so Gilderoy had pulled her aside the next afternoon as she and Harry headed to supper.

"Ah, Miss Granger! A moment of your time!"

The Witch had looked up at him, Harry stopping at her side. Gilderoy had been pleased to see they were holding hands. The school knew that Harry and Hermione were an item, as they went everywhere holding hands. Ginny, of course, was not pleased at this development. She had even made a few snarky comments about which broom-closet they preferred. She didn't seem to make the connection that the Witch she was criticizing was grading her potions' assignments. Or maybe she thought Hermione was too 'professional' to let such comments affect her grading. Lockhart doubted it. The Weasley girl was at the age where she had not yet connected that her current actions had consequences she would have to deal with later. It also made it difficult for Hermione to believe Gilderoy that she would make a good addition to their potential marriage.

"Yes, Professor Lockhart?" The Witch had been carrying a much larger load of parchments than normal — the homework assignments.

Lockhart had bestowed on her a generous display of his beautiful smile, striking a pose in his resplendent mauve robes.

"Because you are new to grading homework assignments, I thought I would give you a few pointers." In his future life, he had sheltered with a Muggle teacher for a couple of weeks. Somehow, the subject of grading papers came up — Harry hadn't understood how one got through them without losing one's mind. The woman had explained it quite simply, and so now, Harry/Gilderoy passed it on to Hermione. Or was that back, considering this was the past?

"First, take a parchment and write the name of the assignment at the top. Then make a list of the _important_ details mentioned in lecture or in the textbook that are required in the assignment. Not mentioning those details shows that the student either doesn't understand the assignment or doesn't understand the subject. Failing to mention those details is a failed assignment. How many are left out indicates just how much of a failure it is," he said.

"Draw a line, then list the details you expect the paper to mention to show that the student actually _read_ the textbook, _listened_ in class, or _researched_ as instructed. Draw _another_ line and list the details that only the most _diligent_ student will discover.

"Count how many details you have in the important list, and divide them into seventy. That becomes your passing grade, or 'Acceptable', if they get them all in the paper. Count the details in the second list and divide them into the remaining thirty points. Each detail you see in the paper you add that amount to the total score.

"The third list are extra-credit details that can fill in for missed details in the second list, or to give a bit of extra-credit."

"So, if you have four details that _must_ be mentioned, they each are worth eighteen points – seventy-two total. If you have six details in the second list, each is worth five points, for a total of one-hundred-two for a diligent student. So, someone who gets the four main details and two of the secondary details gets a score of eighty-two, or an 'Exceeds Expectations'. Extra-credit details are worth the same as the secondary, so if a student included two of those as well, the score would go from eighty-two to ninety-two— an 'Outstanding.' Any score over one-hundred-two is an Outstanding Plus.

"See? Easy! Then, on a second parchment, you just make a grid chart of the students down the page and one column for each detail across the top, and then scan each assignment looking for those details. Check the boxes, and when you're done just add up the scores for a grade!"

"That will cut your reading time dramatically because you only need to read an assignment once. It also makes it much fairer. And if someone writes short or long homework, you take off points based on how much they missed the required length — part of homework is learning to write to the length _specified_! If the student _can't_ write to the length assigned it means they are _not following directions_ and need to be penalized!"

Both had stared at him wide-eyed.

Gilderoy nodded happily, "Yes, that's all there is to it. It's so simple you might even get Harry to help you occasionally — just don't let anyone see him doing that! Plus, once you have the assignment detail sheet, you never have to do it again and that saves you time as well for next year."

He had grinned happily; once more Gilderoy had bestowed important life-changing information to his students. "There now, that's sorted. Off with you, don't want to miss supper." He had made a shooing motion with his other hand.

And the two had taken his advice. It had helped that Hermione was a speed-reader. And far more organized than Snape ever would be. Now it took her less than an hour to grade a classes' homework instead of the two to three hours that Professor Snape usually used. With her penchant for scheduling, that meant she still had plenty of time to devote to helping Harry. Which she did.

Everyone had quickly settled into their new routines.

Harry spent almost all his time with Hermione. His goal this past month had been to prevent anyone from actually touching her hands or arms. While the glamour hid her appearance, someone touching her arm or hand would feel the fur and know something was wrong. Others interpreted it as him being an over-protective boyfriend. The girls thought it was "cute" while the boys his age thought it rather creepy. Some of the more intelligent older students noted their girlfriends' reaction and began mimicking him to a degree.

Gilderoy noticed that Hermione did a lot of touching of her own — running her fingers through his hair when he sat beside her on a couch or touching his arm with her hand to attract his attention or just when talking. They tended to bump together frequently when standing or walking, even when they weren't holding hands, a rare event.

Based on some of Harry's expressions, Gilderoy could see the little Wizard was amazed that anyone, especially a _girl_ , would want close contact with him. And the smile he had whenever she reached over to take his hand gave Harry/Gilderoy a stab of jealousy.

Mr. Ron Weasley, it seemed, was a bit jealous of the attention the two bestowed on each other, and considered it an affront that Harry might want to spend time with someone other than himself. And he was very offended when Hermione refused to let him copy her assignments anymore. That Harry often allowed him to copy his work didn't seem to help, especially when he noticed that Harry was doing much better than he was on those assignments. In fact, of the group of five, Harry, Hermione, Neville, Luna, and Ron, Ron was always at the bottom of the assignment scores for their classes. And always did the worst in the practicals, as well, his new wand only making a small difference because the lazy git just didn't _practice_ anything.

So it was that on the third Monday of the month, at breakfast, that Rita Skeeter once more sat with her photographer Bozo at the head of the Gryffindor table. The Headmaster was once more giving Gilderoy an unhappy glare. The students were once more staring at the flamboyant Professor, excitedly wondering what new surprise he was about to unveil. The other Professors watched with expressions ranging from undisguised glee, Professor Flitwick, to happy anticipation, the Witches at the Headmaster's Table, to boredom, Professor Snape.

"Professor McGonagall, if you would please?" Harry/Gilderoy invited the puzzled Professor to step to the front of the Headmaster's Table. He pulled the Sword of Gryffindor from his robes and dropped to one knee. He presented the sword to her with the blade resting on one hand and the hilt in his other. He said, "Professor McGonagall, it is with great pleasure that I, Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defence League, five-time winner of _Witch Weekly's_ Most-Charming-Smile Award, and Hogwarts' beloved Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor return to your House, Gryffindor House, the lost Sword of Gryffindor! Not seen for many centuries and believed lost forever, only a true hero of Gryffindor may call the blade to his or her side in time of danger. While I am not a member of Gryffindor House, the Sword came to my hands while I fought the Basilisk for the safety of Hogwarts' students just a few weeks ago. I hereby return it to your hands so that it may join Ravenclaw's Diadem in the Entry Way Display Case for all to see."

To say the staff was stunned was an understatement.

"By the way, some Basilisk poison splashed on the blade, so be very careful. Being a Goblin blade, it has absorbed the poison. Even the slightest cut will be fatal," he explained as the staff, and especially the Headmaster, inspected the treasure. "As you all may remember from the articles in _The Daily Prophet_ , I killed the Basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets with a sword. This is _that_ sword!"

The sultry look the older Witch gave him as she left the Headmaster's Table with the Sword in hand to place it in the Entry Way Display case promised him a reprise of their frolic from their date night. Gilderoy was doing a little happy dance in his head while Harry was not sure what to think. Professor Sinistra was giving him a welcoming look, as well.

The Headmaster, for some reason, did not appear as happy about the Sword's return to Hogwarts as one might suppose. Harry wondered how long it would take the old fart to realize that the Sorting Hat was missing, he still had it in his robe-pocket. The Hat seemed to enjoy being out and about in the castle. It was in no hurry to return to the shelf it usually resided on in the Headmaster's Office with only Fawkes and portraits for company. He sometimes wore the Hat during his night-time patrols and activities for the conversation and relief that he had someone to confide in about his projects. They both appreciated the situation, and the Hat occasionally bemoaned having to return to its shelf for the summer.

The Witches had not yet noticed the Hat hanging on his wooden-elf in the bedroom. The Hat never complained about his having company over, no matter how late. The Hat, Harry decided, was the _perfect_ discrete roommate.

Rita had another two days of headlines, and told Harry/Gilderoy she was now the highest paid reporter on the staff. And his reputation took another climb. Soon, as many people would know his name as did Harry Potter's.

(⊙_◎)

Valentine's Day, Sunday, was a hoot, as far as Harry/Gilderoy was concerned. It had taken only a slight encouragement on Gilderoy's part to get the Harry Potter Fan Club to send Valentine's Day cards enmass rather than a single card with all their names telling Harry that he could depend on their support.

The dwarfs brought him just as much amusement, and he made sure that the little Wizard received several 'singing' cards in the Great Hall at dinner and supper to maximize his mortification. Hermione was almost as embarrassed. The dwarves were grumpy, but he rewarded them well with generous bonuses for not going on a rampage and slaughtering the clueless students.

He did, however, sneak a private tea-and-scones picnic for the two children in the Come-and-Go Room in the middle of the afternoon. That took a bit of effort on his part, but coordinating with Dobby the two were able to set up a special and romantic tea room with a hidden entrance on the First Floor and keep the C&G Room's seventh floor location a secret for just a bit longer. From their smiles, he presumed the couple enjoyed their private 'together' time quite a lot.

Gilderoy found it interesting that Harry's little group had grown. And rearranged itself. Luna had switched to sitting by Neville at the meals. Hannah Abbot and Susan Bones had taken to sitting and studying with Harry and Hermione. The two girls alternated with each other on who actually sat beside him. At meals, the twins had kept Ron isolated from Harry as they concentrated on teaching the disgusting pig table manners. Recently, they had started letting him eat most of his meals away from them as a test, with the warning that if he fell back into his bad habit of eating like a starving dog, they would dragoon him into _more_ proper eating etiquette lessons.

Ron was upset at having lost his prime seat beside Harry to a couple of girls who steadfastly refused his subtle requests that they move the bloody hell over. Instead, he found himself seated beside Hermione. Based his listening charms, Gilderoy knew the boy again blamed Harry for not treating his best mate better.

Hermione seemed to be taking the new arrangements on Harry's other side rather calmly. He did notice, though, that she sometimes allowed a quick expression of uneasiness when one of the other girls put her hand on Harry's arm or brushed up against him while they were eating, studying, or walking.

Was it possible Susan's aunt had ferreted out that Harry was indeed now Lord Potter, with at least two other House Lordships? Hopefully, she hadn't discovered that he had five total and Gilderoy was going to take two off his hands.

He would have to take Hermione aside on Monday and give her advice on how to handle the situation. To tell her that the best way to deal with the other girls was to become best friends with them, rather than to treat them as rivals to be out-witted or out-maneuvered. The only way a successful group marriage could work was if they were all good friends and not constantly trying to gain an advantage over each other.

The previous week, Gilderoy had spent a bit of time with Harry one evening during a detention explaining to him about Witches and their expectations regarding boyfriends and dating. He told him that flowers were always a good way to show one's appreciation for a Witch, and that there was even a 'language of flowers' that assigned a meaning to them when they were given. Things such as single full-bloom Red Rose meant _I love you_ or _I still love you_ , whereas a Yellow Rose meant _joy_ and _friendship_. You could even use Monkshood to say _Beware; A deadly foe is near_. Hopefully he would never need that last!

Jewellery, such as bracelets, necklaces, and earrings, were also always a good idea, especially considering one could embed powerful protective spells and enchantments into them.

Based on Hermione's reactions on Valentine's Day, and the new bracelet with book and broomstick charms that she wore, Gilderoy felt it had been a very productive detention. At supper, the other two girls noticed and immediately started admiring the new bracelet, complimenting Hermione profusely in the process. It didn't take a Seer to see that the three girls would have a conversation regarding Harry in the near future.

(◎_◎)

"Ah, Madam Bones! So _good_ of you to give me a few moments of your time!"

The Head of the D.M.L.E. nodded at the Wizard as he entered her office. She had mixed feeling about this meeting. So far this year, every time the Wizard's name came up, something major happened in the Wizarding world. He had had an interesting career before his placement as the D.A.D.A. professor at Hogwarts, but he was now quite the gadfly.

One the one hand, previously he had appeared very ineffectual, regardless of what his books said. Yet since November, he had set the Wizarding World on its head, with something new every few weeks. First, there was the claim of attempted murder on Harry Potter, and the revelations about the boy's First Year that no one had suspected. Then, somehow, he was involved in the fiasco with Lucius Malfoy — and had sent a tip regarding a hidden room in the Wizard's home that had yielded a veritable bonanza of Dark Artefacts. That alone guaranteed she would see him when he asked. What other titbits might he know?

That he next recovered the lost Ravenclaw Diadem, slew a Basilisk in Hogwarts, and thoroughly humiliated the Headmaster in the process merely enhanced her curiosity! Then he announced he had recovered the lost Sword of Gryffindor.

And, seemingly by accident, over the last few months he had managed to discredit Dumbledore and force him to give up several politically important positions. And Dumbledore, while still a powerful figure in Wizarding politics, wasn't the unassailable figure he had been. Their discoveries during his disposition at the Ministry following the furore over the Basilisk had damaged his credibility severely — he was clearly no true figure of Light. And now many in the Ministry and Wizengamot knew this, even if the public didn't yet. He had managed to keep his position as Headmaster only with difficulty. Bones was sure that blackmail of some sort was involved.

For an ineffectual Wizard, Lockhart was either incredibly lucky or incredibly underhanded and sneaky. And if the reports she had received from Gringotts were correct, he was the richest Wizard in the world.

Hence her immediate agreement to this meeting when he had owled her yesterday. With that kind of record, she couldn't say no. Besides, he was very rich. And single. And rich. Did she mention single?

"I understand how difficult it is to work an unexpected visit into your schedule, Madam Bones. Between my classes at Hogwarts and working on my new book, I barely seem to have time to eat. And the new book, _Burrowing with a Basilisk_ , is shaping up nicely, too. I expect it to be one of my biggest sellers, outperforming my last book, _Magical Me_ , by a large margin, as impossible as that may seem," Gilderoy said enthusiastically. "The chapter on my duel with the giant serpent is the most exciting thing I've ever written, I'll have you know. Of course, all the mundane investigating and searching I had to do beforehand isn't nearly as thrilling . . . ."

"Mr. Lockhart," interrupted Madam Bones, not pleased with his meanderings about his book and beginning to understand why he was still single, "What did you want to tell me?"

"Oh, yes." Lockhart smiled, not perturbed at being interrupted. "Well, I have come across some information that seems to indicate that one of your ministry personnel was involved in Lucius Malfoy's death, poor man." He shook his head in sadness at the senseless loss of life.

She nodded, acknowledging his statement and encouraging him to continue.

"Well, I was dining with Mr. Weasley last November here at the Ministry. I had some concerns about his sons and I was giving him advice on how best to remedy the situation. His twin sons, Fred and George, both Fourth Year students, are quite a handful, I must say. They are creating problems for his youngest son, Ron, a Second Year. Percy, who is a Prefect and a Sixth Year, is becoming a right prat, more interested in following rules and authority than thinking for himself." He shook his head sadly at that assessment.

"Percy is a bit of a problem, but with close attention by his father over the next two years I think we can get him back on track to being a decent Wizard instead of a self-important self-aggrandizing twit." He smiled broadly, wondering if she would notice his self-description prior to this year.

"Ron is going to require quite a lot of attention. He has feeling of inadequacy because of how exceptionally successful all his brothers are at school, and is immensely jealous of his friends. The twins are contributing to that with their constant teasing and pranking . . . ."

Madam Bones cleared her throat loudly, interrupting the Wizard. She was beginning to understand why so many Wizards had little regard for him.

"What? Oh, yes." Gilderoy smiled at her, not at all embarrassed at rambling.

"Well, we had finished our discussion and were passing a few harmless remarks back and forth at desert. I noticed that Mr. Macnair, seated at the next table, seemed rather agitated when I asked about a rumour that Mr. Malfoy was talking with your Aurors — that he was meeting with you on a regular basis about possible Death Eater activities after the War."

Madam Bones shifted in her chair. "Mr. Malfoy was doing nothing of the sort."

"I understand that, now. It was just a rumour. I wonder how it started? Perhaps an enemy of the Wizard started it hoping to cause Mr. Malfoy problems with his former associates?" He paused, arching his eyebrows inquisitively. "In any event, Mr. Wealsey denied hearing the rumour, so I dismissed it."

She stared at him unblinkingly.

"Well, what brings me here is that I was planning to ask Mr. Weasley to another luncheon meeting to discuss the changes in his sons since the last time we talked. Reviewing my notes on our previous conversation, I remembered that Mr. Macnair had overheard us. And that not too many days later Mr. Malfoy was murdered. An odd coincidence, wouldn't you say? Then I remembered that both Mr. Macnair and Mr. Malfoy claimed they had been _imperiused_ into being Death Eaters.

"However, we both know from your prisoner interrogations at Azkaban that you can _only_ receive the Dark Mark if you give your complete and uncoerced assent. Of course, I know you can't arrest any released Death Eaters based on old evidence because of the double-jeopardy laws, but what if one of them were to commit a _new_ crime? _Then_ you could interrogate them properly, correct?

"Well, I'm not one to tell someone how to run her department, but maybe you could place a truth detecting spell on the chair here, and then ask Mr. Macnair in to see if he had heard that rumour or knew anything about Mr. Malfoy's death. If the spell indicates he is lying when he denies having any knowledge of Mr. Malfoy's demise, well, then you have a reason to apply veritaserum." Gilderoy reached into his pocket and put a small vial on her desk. "There's a memory of the end of the conversation in question and Mr. Macnair's reaction."

The Head of the D.M.L.E. nodded slowly, still expressionlessly.

"Well, that's all I wanted to say. I hope it gives you some assistance in solving Mr. Malfoy's murder." He stood, gave her a beaming smile, and said, "Again, thank you for taking the time to hear my concerns. I'll not take any more of your precious time." He headed for the door as she stood at her desk. "Oh," he said, "No need to get up, I'll see myself out." He put his hand on the doorknob. "Oh, by the way, did you know that Mrs. Yolanda Travers is a marked Death Eater? And no one ever investigated or interrogated her? She's just been quietly hiding."

He beamed at her as he opened the door and walked out, closing the door carefully.

A few days later he read in _The Daily Prophet_ that Mr. Macnair had been arrested for being involved in Mr. Malfoy's death and would be placed on trial the following month. Almost as an aside, it mentioned he had identified three other Wizards as being active Death Eaters, all now in custody and undergoing interrogation.

(◎_⊙)

It was the ides of March and Gilderoy, under a disillusionment spell, snuck over to the edge of the Hogwarts Wall closest to Hogsmeade. Harry and Hermione were having a picnic there instead of eating their noonday meal in the Great Hall, as was everyone else. All the Witches in Gryffindor had been jealous of the "romantic" luncheon Harry had planned. Harry and Hermione were celebrating the Witch's return to fully human status, except for a slight vertical angling in her pupils and the ability to purr. Actually, she had returned to fully human status at the end of January, but Gilderoy had only recently suggested that they two celebrate the event.

Lockhart had the suspicion that Harry missed Hermione's extra chest 'accessories' but wasn't about to mention _that_!

It was also the farthest point from the Castle and just barely inside the protective enchantments. The House elves had been more than happy to assist. Only Harry and Hermione knew that Gilderoy had set everything up, but he had waited until they finished eating before joining them.

"Good afternoon, Professor Lockhart," the two chorused as he appeared walking towards them. Once he had their full attention, Rita Skeeter appeared. She had flown over the wall as an animagus, and simply changed back. To the two students, it appeared as if she, too, had been hiding under a disillusionment spell. Gilderoy knew the protective enchantments had been set to ignore animagi, so her presence was undetected. The Headmaster didn't want the constant reminders that Peter was in the Castle.

"Good afternoon, Rita," Gilderoy said as he set up _Notice-Me-Not_ and silencing spells around them. The rune stones that Dobby had placed earlier kept the air temperature well within a comfortable summery range while leaving the snow untouched. A large rug was atop the snow, with a table and chairs placed for their comfort. Roses were in a vase.

"I'm _soo_ glad you could come, Rita," he continued. "I thought you might like to hear a bit more about Harry's First Year. How he smuggled a Dragon out of Hogwarts, battled an evil monster in the Forbidden Forest, discovered that the Headmaster had hidden the Philosopher's Stone in the school, and that there was an evil Wizard after it."

Once more Harry and Hermione talked themselves almost hoarse, and Gilderoy left her with a few memory vials of Norbert, the monster in the Forbidden Forest, and their adventure under the trap door guarded by Fluffy.

This series of articles, coming only a couple of months after the Basilisk and demonstrating that the dangers at school were not _just_ this year, would farther devastate Dumbledore's public standing. And the best part was that the Headmaster would have _no_ idea how Rita got the stories! As far as he knew, Harry and Hermione had never left the grounds. Rita had never come to Hogwarts. And Gilderoy had no visible connection to the articles, except for copious comments about how he was mentoring both Harry and Hermione this year and keeping the school safe from dangers that the Headmaster never noticed, or worse, simply ignored.

(⊙_◎)

Gilderoy strode confidently into Gringotts, nodding to the Goblin guards at the door. As in the previous times, he was quickly ushered to his account manager. Ragnurk's office had undergone a bit of a transition. First was an antechamber with several doors, each with the crest of one of his Houses — Lockhart, Black, Potter, Slytherin, and Gryffindor. Plaques on the wall represented the Houses Gaunt and Peverell. His escort led him directly to the Lockhart door, the most ornate, and Ragnurk.

He smiled broadly at the Goblin, as he crossed the expansive room to the plush chair awaiting him, "Ah, my friend, I trust our gold continues to flow into our vaults." As he sat, a Goblin brought in a tea service and a platter of scones.

The Goblin glared at him, "More today than yesterday."

"Excellent," exclaimed the admitted fop. "I have discovered that Gringotts might have a problem with one of its accounts."

The Goblin sat up straight and stared at him.

"You are familiar with Soul Anchors, horcruxes?"

The Goblin scowled, "Vile things, yes."

"One of your vaults, I fear, is the repository for such an item. And one capable of pouring out the soul contained into anyone one foolish enough to touch it."

The Goblin sat back. "Our vaults are sacrosanct, nothing can be removed without the permission of the vault key owner."

"And such items do not violate any of your rules?"

"Unless the item violates the integrity of Gringotts' security, no."

"Don't your people periodically inspect the vaults? And might not such an inspection accidentally result in the Soul Anchor taking over a Goblin? Wouldn't that threaten the security of Gringotts?"

Ragnurk grinned viciously, "Any Goblin stupid enough to fall to such an item deserves the fate he gets. And if he attempts to break the security of Gringotts, or steal from the vault, we have measures in place to deal with such subterfuge. If he simply leaves, we could care less what he unleashes upon the Wizards."

Harry sat and thought. While Gilderoy would like to retrieve the Hufflepuff Cup, if the only other alternative was its destruction, Harry could settle for that.

"The item," he finally said, interrupting the Goblin who had gone back to work on whatever it was he had been doing previously, "is in the vault of Bellatrix Lestrange."

"Then you need her vault key, or her presence, to enter the vault and retrieve the item," the Goblin said without looking up.

"I am Lord Black and Bellatrix is a daughter of House Black, can I use that to gain access?

"No. You gave up that right when she became a Lestrange."

"What if I don't want the item, I just want the Soul Anchor destroyed insitu? The Cup can remain in the vault."

Ragnurk looked up a moment, frowning. "No. You still need the vault owner's permission to decrease the value of their vault be destroying anything of value in it."

After a few minutes thinking, Harry stood. "Well, then, I apologize for wasting your time, Ragnurk. I take my leave."

The Goblin ignored him as he left.

(⊙_⊙)

April Fool's Day[L1] once again featured Lockhart presenting a trophy to the school. This time Rita sat at the head of the Slytherin Table, to the intense dismay of the older students, and Professor Snape. The Headmaster's eyes were not twinkling very much this morning, either, for some reason. In fact, he looked quite putout to those who knew him.

Just after the Owl's parliament, when the most students possible were in the Great Hall, Gilderoy once more stood. "I have an announcement to make," he stated majestically, projecting his voice across the Hall. He walked to the front of the Headmaster's Table. "Professor Snape, if you please," he waved an invitation to the surly Wizard to join him. For a moment, Harry/Gilderoy could see the desire to tell him off flicker across the Potion Professor's face, but finally, he stood. The Witches at the Headmaster's Table, and most all in the student population were all eagerly awaiting what _new_ discovery their favourite Professor was about to unveil.

With his usual sneer in place, the greasy-haired dungeon-bat stalked around the table to stand in front of Lockhart.

Gilderoy, resplendent in his lavender robe set, conjured a velvet pillow and placed a small bag on it, then presented the pillow to Snape.

"Once again, I, Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defence League, five-time winner of _Witch Weekly's_ Most-Charming-Smile Award, your beloved Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor, and slayer of Basilisks, have recovered a priceless treasure long thought to be lost to Hogwarts and Wizardkind.

"It is with great joy and pride that I present to you, Professor Snape, Head of the Slytherin House here at Hogwarts, this long lost Founder's Artefact," he paused dramatically and posed with teeth gleaming brightly as he loudly proclaimed, " _Lord Salazar Slytherin's Locket!_ " He vanished the bag leaving the gleaming Locket out for all to see. "It can now join its fellows, Ravenclaw's Diadem and Gryffindor's Sword, in the Founders' Display Case in the Entry Way."

While the rest of the school enthusiastically applauded, Gilderoy was careful to note that Professor Snape merely held up the pillow with the locket and kept his face carefully blank. And the Headmaster had a decidedly sour expression as Gilderoy Lockhart once more publically upstaged him.


	19. Chapter 19 That Rat!

_2016/08/28: Fixed Slytherin Tower to Slytherin Dungeons. Oops._

 **19\. That Rat!**

The evening after he had presented Slytherin's Locket to the school, Gilderoy stopped in front of the Gargoyle guarding the Headmaster's Office. He held his right hand before the stone creature's eyes and flashed his Gryffindor and Slytherin rings. The Gargoyle quickly moved aside.

He took the moving staircase up to the office and barged in without knocking. The Headmaster, of course, knew he was there. The Wizard wasn't stupid, anytime his office Guardian moved, it told him who was entering and gave him plenty of time to prepare for his guest. Making them knock on the door as if he didn't know they were there was his passive-aggressive way of establishing dominance — he always waited several moments before calling for them to enter.

"Ah, Albus, I was hoping to catch you when you weren't busy," he said jovially, ignoring the stacks of paper on the old Wizard's desk and the slightly irritated look on the Wizard's face. "I thought I should warn you that Slytherin's Locket was a horcrux, just as the diary and Ravenclaw's Diadem. It appears that he never found Gryffindor's Sword, or that, too, would have been used."

The Headmaster sat back in his chair in surprise.

"That makes three horcruxes I've found, and I fear that there are still more. As I told you, I can still feel one, faintly, wandering the corridors on occasion. Do you suppose it's Hufflepuff's Cup?"

Actually, now that the Castle recognized him as Lord Slytherin and Lord Gryffindor he had complete access to the protective enchantments over the school. And the protective enchantments not only pinpointed Harry as carrying a very Dark Artefact — Voldewhore's Soul — they pointed out the there was a rat animagus in the Gryffindor Tower. There were also several minor Dark Artefacts scattered throughout the various Hogwarts Houses, but most were in the Slytherin Dungeons.

"My word!" exclaimed the old Wizard pretending surprise and astonishment.

"Yes, my feeling exactly. Just how many of these did he make? Counting the one I occasionally feel, which I am sure is Hufflepuff's Cup, and himself, that would be five. If he were using just the Founders' artefacts and he settled for his personal diary when he couldn't find the Sword, that would make sense. But what if he made more? The next most felicitous number is _seven_ , after that is _thirteen_. I doubt _thirteen_ as that would fracture him into too many pieces and I don't think he would remain sane if he had done that. Eleven is possible, of course, but it doesn't have quite the punch that thirteen does but that would still be almost a fifty-percent increase in soul pieces.

"I don't think he would use _nine_ , because that would require three sets of three. He could do three things of the Founders, three of his own, and three of something else, but that would be chancy as it would require he know he could find all three sets of three before he started any one of them. And even then, nine might be too much for a soul to bear, and it could destroy him instead. A much better choice is seven. If I were interested in such things, well, then, that's what I would have chosen."

He paused and stared at the Headmaster. He had thought long and hard about this, before deciding to see if the old goat was willing to cooperate. Just how much was the plotter willing to share?

"Did he consult with anyone while he was at Hogwarts? It's obvious he knew about the horcruxes while still a student, as the diary and Moaning Myrtle demonstrate. And were there any personal items other than his diary that he might have invested as one of his horcruxes?"

The Headmaster stared back at him, the twinkle gone from his eyes. "He was quite close to one professor when he was here as a student. I fear, though, the man will refuse to tell us what he knows out of terror that Voldemort's followers might set out after him if it were to become known he had told others of Voldemort's secrets."

Gilderoy nodded. "That isn't a problem, I am quite skilled at getting reluctant Wizards and Witches to trust me enough to tell me things that they might not otherwise want to discuss." He smiled disarmingly at the Headmaster. "You locate Mr. Slughorn and let _me_ convince the Wizard it is in his best interests to tell us what he knows." He practically exuded confidence and sincerity. "I am, after all, Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defence League, five-time winner of _Witch Weekly's_ Most-Charming-Smile Award, Hogwarts' Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor, and Basilisk Slayer. If the professor can't trust _me_ with his secret, who _can_ he trust?"

The Professor stared at the Headmaster, eyes shining, teeth bright, his entire bearing radiating candour and honesty. And looking like a simpleton. But how had he known it was Slughorn the older Wizard had been talking about?

"Are there any other personal effects of Tom Riddle that he might have used besides the diary? A _ring_ , a necklace, or even a favourite quill?" Would the old goat-shagger notice his slight emphasis on _ring_? Tom Riddle had had the Gaunt ring during his Seventh Year.

The old Wizard looked pensive and stared down at his desk. Slowly he shook his head. "No, not that I am aware of. I shall have to peruse my memories of him to see if I can spot any clues. That will take some time."

"Ah," Gilderoy said. "Well, before you go gallivanting off around the countryside, give me a call and I'll go with you. Back up is always a good idea. Besides, I am Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defence League, five-time winner of _Witch Weekly's_ Most-Charming-Smile Award, Slayer of Basilisks, and Hogwarts beloved Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor. If _I_ can't keep you safe, _who_ can?"

Harry knew precisely what and where the next horcrux was — the Gaunt ring in Little Hangleton. He could retrieve it himself, but this would be a test. Was the Headmaster willing to work with others? Or did he still see himself as infallible? Would the Wizard stupidly attempt to retrieve the ring on his own, and ensure his death? If he hadn't learned yet that he needed to work with others, then maybe it would be better remove him from the playing field.

It was a harsh judgement, but Harry had learned that lesson the hard way in the war. No matter how loyal they were to the cause, it was better to cut someone out of the loop when their actions and secrets became too dangerous to others to trust. And if that meant consigning them to an early death by allowing them to do something fatally stupid, then so be it. No matter how much it hurt to watch it happen.

You just can't protect people from their own stupidity, no matter how smart or clever they were.

(◎_⊙)

Gilderoy walked into the Perth palliative care building and looked around. It had the feeling all such buildings did and reminded him of a hospital, which, in a way, it was. A few minutes later, he was meeting with the director of facility. Decked out in an obviously expensive grey conservative three-piece silk suit, Gilderoy just reeked of refinement and money.

The other stood as the Wizard came in the office, and they shook hands. "Thank you so much for seeing me so quickly, I know you must be a busy man," Lockhart said. Through that connection, he sent a silent _imperio_ and the man's eyes glazed over. Gilderoy closed the door behind them and raised muffling charms that included only the two of them. Anyone listening via an electronic device would hear only a faint buzzing — unless the man was wearing one. He wasn't. Harry/Gilderoy checked.

"I need an old lady who has no kin and is expected to pass on soon," Gilderoy said. "Do any of your patients here fit that description?"

The man smiled, pleased to have the answer, "Yes, there are several, poor dears."

The Wizard handed the man a pocket watch. "When you open the watch, you'll see that there is a small disk inset into the cover. When such a woman passes on, remove that disk and step on it. I will come and claim the body as next of kin. Don't let the body leave here before I arrive. Keep the watch with you at all times until this happens. After that, keep the watch as a present from a relative pleased with the excellent service your establishment provides. When I leave, you will only remember that we discussed how my very ill Grandaunt was doing. You will act normally in all things, and, after stepping on the disk, you will amend the woman's file to reflect that you notified her nephew, here's the information." He handed the man an index card with the appropriate information. After that, you will forget I was ever here or what you did for me." The man listed on the card would have a vague recollection of the incident, completing the cover story should anyone try to backtrack it.

Gilderoy and the man spent a few minutes discussing the facilities, and how they dealt with the newly deceased, and then he left.

The Wizard could have conjured a corpse for his purposes, but the spells would eventually fail and reveal the masquerade. This way, all he had to do was alter the features of the corpse and those magics would remain stable until the corpse had decayed enough so that it no longer mattered.

Now all he could do was wait.

(⊙_◎)

It was April 30th, a Friday, six months since the message on the wall announced _The Chamber of Secrets_ was "open." The Hogwarts student body had almost forgotten that incident, especially because both Colin Creevey and Mr. Filch's detestable cat, Mrs. Norris, were both now prowling the corridors with great joy, none the worse for their experience.

There were far more interesting things to discuss — Harry a Parselmouth and Draco's fall from power in the Slytherin House were just two topics of gossip. The students also debated just what Neville Longbottom found interesting enough about Luna Lovegood to be holding her hand. And in public, no less. And the Witches were all aghast that Hannah and Susan were both chasing Harry Potter and even had said that they were willing to share! And Hermione hadn't done anything to dissuade them yet! There was a betting pool run by the Twins on when she would declare enough and start hexing them (Gilderoy had placed a bet that all three would agree to share).

Gilderoy had taken one of Professor Snape's detentions assigned to Harry. While addressing the seeming endless supply of autograph requests he had touched on the subject of Witches, dating, and the fact that in the Wizarding World it wasn't unusual for Pure-blood Witches to share a husband in order to preserve a bloodline. Gilderoy managed to convince the little Wizard that Witches considered him quite the catch because of his bloodline _and_ his Lordships. Hermione, of course, didn't care about those, but others would and he should just learn to accept it. As long as Hermione agreed and he genuinely enjoyed being around the other girls, he should just accept the situation for what it was. In time, he might find the idea less frightening than he did currently. If anything, that talk seemed to drive him closer to Hermione.

Yes, there were plenty of things to occupy their interest instead. Such as Gilderoy, their D.A.D.A. Professor, finding Ravenclaw's lost diadem, Slytherin's lost locket, and Gryffindor's lost sword, that he thwarted murder attempt by Dobby the house-elf, revealed that a Dark Artefact was trying to possess the Gryffindor Ginny Weasley, and discovered the lair of the Basilisk and killed it. The Weasley twins had set up a betting pool on when Gilderoy would announce his recovery of the next "lost" item, and what it would be.

And the biggest point of discussion during meals was that the end of term was only _six_ weeks away! While the Fifth and Seventh Years looked at the coming OWL and NEWT deadlines in horror, the others were in eager anticipation of going home for the summer. For Gilderoy's classes, at least, he knew his students were well prepared — the Seventh-year students would easily pass, he knew, and all the rest were at least three months into _next_ year's lessons!

Just as he did nearly every day, Lockhart strolled the aisles between the House Tables at dinner, looking for problems before they _became_ problems. He looked magnificent in his mauve robes with their lavender trim. In his wake, he left sighing Witches and disgruntled Wizardfriends. If Harry would let him, Gilderoy could have bedded most of the Sixth and Seventh Year girls by now. Harry had made a deal, either the girls or more publicity. Gilderoy, of course, had chosen the publicity. So far, he was quite happy with the results. That the deal did not cover the female staff helped, Sinistra and McGonagall were surprisingly compliant — and flexible!

When he stopped behind Ron and frowned at him, the other students immediately noticed and a circle of quiet began to spread. He stared hard at the boy. It took a moment for Ron to notice Neville's frantic hand motions from across the table. Ron swallowed what he had in his mouth and very nervously slowly turned to look back and up at the Wizard behind him, as did Hermione, Harry, Susan, and Hannah seated beside him. The other Witches were also watching.

The Professor suddenly said, "Mr. Ronald Weasley, please bring out your pet rat." A simple detection spell as the boy walked by him this morning had confirmed he had his rat with him.

The boy gulped, but quickly complied, pulling the rat out of his pocket where he had just dropped a small chuck of chicken. The rat was happily nibbling at the morsel and it took the rodent a moment to notice he was the centre of attention. And the attention of one Professor in particular.

"Oh, boy, Lockhart is going to deduct points from Weasley this time. Bet how many he will remove," said a Seventh Year Hufflepuff loudly to another. The Gryffindors were looking unhappy at Ron losing them more points — he had lost them more points, so far, than anyone in their House, ever, even his twin brothers. The other Houses were watching the scene with amusement. McGonagall rushed around the end of the Headmaster's Table, trying to save her House points. The other professors watched quietly, wondering what had attracted the D.A.D.A. professor's attention. The Headmaster watched, eyes twinkling, perhaps hoping to see the professor make a fool of himself as he was supposed to be doing this year at Hogwarts. Which had not happened, yet, to the Headmaster's intense dismay. He also had the vague feeling that once more he was going to take a blow to his family jewels, figuratively speaking.

"Er, I was keeping him my pocket, sir," said the boy tremulously, "he wasn't on the table or anything. I'm not breaking any rules."

The rat, beginning to suspect something was wrong, began squirming in Ron's hand and dropped the chicken chunk. Ron covered the rat with his other hand to prevent his escape.

Smiling happily, Gilderoy placed his left hand in his pocket and gave a mild _ennervate_ to the rat in his pocket. Then he casted a switching spell replacing the fake rat for the animagus He stunned the one in his pocket to keep it quiet and motionless. Nobody noticed the change in rats, although the one now in the boy's grasp wasn't squirming, still recovering from the stunner Gilderoy had hit him with that morning.

Lockhart beamed happily at the boy, his rat huddled in his hands but beginning to struggle as it woke up. The Wizard pulled out his wand and pointed it at the boy. McGonagall pulled her wand on seeing what Lockhart was doing. Gilderoy silently casted a blue coloured spell at a horrified Ron. McGonagall quickly disarmed Lockhart thinking he was attacking her student.

She found _her_ eyes widening in horror as when the rat began to glow and change. Ron dropped his pet on the table in horror. The rat grew rapidly larger and knocked dishes and food to the floor. The students jumped to their feet, knocking their benches over as they scrambled to get away from whatever was happening on the Gryffindor table.

The Transfiguration Professor's mouth dropped open in shock as the rat transformed into a man, a Wizard, actually. And one she recognized easily, even if it had been eleven years since she last saw him. He, and his three friends, had been the mischievous bane of her existence for almost nine years before that. "But you're dead," was all she could squeak out.

"Er, uh," the man said, confused at the sudden change in his circumstances.

Harry and Hermione were learning from his classes Gilderoy was pleased to see. Both already had their wands out and pointed at the strange man. Lockhart deftly plucked the wand from Harry's hand and casted a stunner followed by a petrification spell on the animagus. The less the previously hidden Wizard said the better.

"Isn't this man Peter Pettigrew? Isn't he supposed to be _dead_?" he said in a clear, ringing voice that rang out over the Great Hall. "I think _he_ is the one who saw to Mrs Norris' and Mr. Colin's petrifications, _and_ the ugly scribble on the wall outside Myrtle's toilets about the Chamber of Secrets." None but the Weasley family knew that it had been Ginny, possessed by Voldewhore, who had done all that. And this would keep it so.

"And look," he added, a flick of Harry's wand removed the rat-faced man's left sleeve, revealing Voldewhore's Dark Mark on his arm. "He's a Death Eater." The students that could see gasped and rapidly spread word. No one remarked on his easy handling of someone else's wand, nor its ready acceptance of his actions.

Within moments Flitwick, Snape, and Dumbledore surrounded the bound Wizard. Gilderoy handed Harry back his wand, then retrieved _his_ wand from a stunned McGonagall. He turned back to the shocked Harry. "Mr. Potter, _that_ was an excellent show of reflexes, but you need better situational awareness as I took your wand from you far too easily." The boy blinked and slowly nodded, examining his wand as if looking for damage.

"Prefects, lead all the students to your common rooms," Dumbledore ordered. "Classes are cancelled for this morning and no student should be outside their Houses. Prefects, do a head count." The Headmaster quickly levitated the bound body and started to his office with the professors following him.

"Ah, Professor Vector," said Lockhart to his adjacent professor, "could I trouble you to floo-call the press, please? I believe Albus will take care of informing the D.M.L.E. of today's events. If he doesn't, you can remind him when you arrive there."

"Ah, Sure thing," said Professor Vector and dashed away towards the floo in her nearby office.

Lockhart leisurely exited the Great Hall and headed for his office on the First floor.

The other professors headed to the Headmaster's office. Gilderoy was whistling happily. His owl last night to Rita had said she should be ready for something very interesting to happen in Hogwarts at dinner today regarding a Wizard known as Peter Pettigrew, and to be waiting for a floo-call from the school.

It was amazing how a little preparation can make such a big difference. Rita came through his floo as soon as he called her. Everyone would think she arrived after Professor Vector's alert. Bozo followed her. If things were true to form, Lockhart could expect the Aurors to show up in fifteen or thirty minutes through the Headmaster's floo. Fools. They should always have a rapid response team on hand, much like a Muggle Fire Department, ready to fly at a moment's notice. He would pass that suggestion on to Madam Bones the next time he visited.

"Could you please tell us how you managed to find the supposedly dead, Order of Merlin Holder, Peter Pettigrew?" asked Rita Skeeter eagerly, after he briefed her on what had happened in the Great Hall.

"Well, Rita, I was really perturbed that somebody had the audacity to try to scare _my_ students. In fact, I took it as a personal affront and devoted myself to the cause of finding and bringing to justice the criminal who petrified the noble Mrs. Norris, and then later, the First Year student Colin Creevey. You might remember that Mrs. Norris is the valuable feline companion of our own Mr. Filch. Mr. Filch is the caretaker of Hogwarts and Mrs. Norris is _vital_ to the school's internal security, as most any student will tell you." The students' dislike of the cat was in direct proportion to how much trouble the cat created for them.

"So, I started carefully monitoring the students and other creatures that inhabit this grand institution. I found the activities of Mr. Ronald Weasley's pet very suspicious. The rat behaves in a manner that is just too intelligent for a rat. Plus, I found out that the Weasley's rat . . . ," Lockhart stopped speaking.

"And?" asked Rita in a hungrier voice.

"Well, you'll have to find it out in my next book, _Restraining_ _a Rat._ Seriously, though, Peter Pettigrew, as a rat, was under Professor McGonagall's constant surveillance for at least the last five years." He stopped and shook his head sadly. "It's really a shame that she, a cat animagus, was unable to catch the Wizard, literally a rat.

"Although I suppose I can't really blame her. After all, Headmaster Dumbledore is far more powerful than she is, with far more experience in battling Dark Wizards. Not to mention that he controls Hogwarts' protective enchantments. And if _he_ didn't notice the rat animagus, why should I expect her to? But she will be devastated, I am sure, and blame herself relentlessly. She is very protective of her young lions, don't you know?

"Even more amazing to me though, is that the Castle protective enchantments, which are supposed to be the best in the world and only allow Wizards accompanied by staff to cross them, are apparently _incapable_ of detecting and stopping a wizard in animagus form. Why, _any_ Dark Wizard could sneak into the Castle and do who knows how much harm to our children here without us being any the wiser until it is _far_ too late. How can the Headmaster call Hogwarts the safest place in the world when _this_ can happen? And let's not even mention the Troll or the possessed Professor Quirrell incidents from last year! I think it is high time Hogwarts' protective enchantments were given an independent and thorough inspection and upgrade, don't you?"

He stopped and gave a very theatrical and heavy sigh.

"I was sorry to learn the sad story of how the purportedly vile Sirius Black killed this man, Peter Pettigrew, both supposedly the best friends of James Potter, Harry Potter's father. I discovered all that in my research when I decided to mentor the young Wizard as I have this year. And then later, when I discovered I was Lord Black, I did more research. It never made any _sense_ to me that someone who was such a close friend, as Sirius was to James Potter, would so suddenly and without remorse turn to the Dark Lord and betray his friend."

He had already told her about being Lord Black, but had promised an exclusive at a later date for her silence till then.

"But it now appears that Peter Pettigrew deceived everyone and framed his other best friend for the act. Very skilful indeed to set a trap for another that leaves _everyone_ thinking the _other_ Wizard is guilty of your dirty deed." He shook his head in wry admiration for the villain. "And I just _know_ he was the one responsible for leaving that message about opening the Chamber of Secrets on the wall here at Hogwarts, and guiding the Basilisk into attacking Mr. Filch's cat and the student Mr. Creevey. Fortunately, I was able to nip that horrific plan in the bud before any other students came to harm, such as what happened to poor Myrtle Warren fifty years ago." He flashed her a confident smile.

"I am sure justice will be brought to the notorious Sirius Black, because unlike when he was _first_ thrown in Azkaban, we are fortunate to have a great Minister of Magic, Mr. Fudge. And Mr. Fudge has shown himself to be strong and courageous, with a solid affinity to justice and righteousness. I am _sure_ he will see to freeing Lord Black, personally." Especially now that there wasn't a Malfoy pumping galleons into his pockets to prevent that very action. That and Harry/Gilderoy's solicitors would be hounding him using as blackmail the bribery schemes they had uncovered involving the Wizard. And doing a bit of bribing themselves.

"After all, all it will take is the application of a little veritaserum to prove his innocence on the spot. And everyone should demand that prisoners receive veritaserum to _prove_ their guilt before sending them to Azkaban. After all, innocent people _have_ confessed to crimes in order to protect a loved one.

"But if the Ministry can pick up the Scion of an Ancient and Noble House such as Black and toss him in Azkaban without a trial, or even _charging_ him with a crime, why, then what's to prevent them from doing the same to any of our children, or even ourselves?! With Sirius Black's precedent, they could simply pick you up, Rita, and toss you in Azkaban and no one could object! All they would have to say it that you belong in Azkaban for your crimes, such as being an illegal animagus, without ever _verifying_ what those crimes might be, or even _mentioning_ what the charges are!" He stopped and pretended to be reflecting on his statement.

"Right. Excuse me now, Rita, but I must now console the grieving Minerva about her failure. But let me say this to your readers, Rita, 'Parents, there is no need to fear for your children, because the great Gilderoy Lockhart is here. Your children are safe as long as I am here!'" And with that, Lockhart turned towards the photographer and struck a pose brimming with confidence and showing off his broad smile for _The Daily Prophet_.

Then he said, "Perhaps you should go to the Headmaster's Office, you might be able to get a few photographs of Mr. Pettigrew as the Aurors question him." The reporter and her photographer quickly exited his office. Not quite at a run, but definitely a very fast walk. The two should arrive well before the Aurors had a chance to come through the Headmaster's Floo, if he had even remembered to call them! The _Aurors_ hadn't had any warning that there was a game afoot this afternoon and it would take them a ridiculously long time to get things together.

As soon as the door closed behind them, he sent a messenger patronus to Mr. Weasley at his office. "Ah, Mr. Weasley, something has come up here at Hogwarts with your son, Ronald Weasley. He's not hurt or in any trouble, for once, but you and your wife's presence are _urgently_ needed. Floo directly here to my office from your home, as soon as you can, if not immediately." Then he gave the name of his floo connection.

"Miksy?" POP, "Miksy comes, Professor Defender." "Excellent, would you please inform Mr. Percy Weasley that I am in need of his presence in my office immediately?" "Miksy tells Stuck-up Wheezy that youse needs him." POP.

Huh, even the house-elves considered Percy to be a rule-bound prat.

It took only a few minutes for the two anxious parents to arrive. It probably would take longer for Rita and Bozo to make it to the Headmaster's Office.

"Ah. It's a pleasure to see you Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. Welcome to my humble office. Come, take a seat while we wait for your son, Percy." They had no sooner seated themselves than an out-of-breath Percy arrived.

"Ah, Percy. I see that you have come too, as per my instructions." Lockhart said. Percy slowly walked in and sat cautiously. He was still somewhat stunned at the revelations about his former pet.

Gilderoy sighed. "I am _very_ sorry; there is no easy way to say this." He tried to project a steady calm comforting air to the worried parents.

"You sons' pet rat, Scabbers, I believe he is called, was _not_ just a rat. He was a Wizard hiding out in your home as a rat. And he wasn't just any Wizard, either. He was the supposedly dead Peter Pettigrew, a confirmed Death Eater."

For a moment, the older Weasleys looked puzzled. "But Peter is dead," objected Arthur.

Harry/Gilderoy shook his head and smiled ruefully, "Reports of his death appear to have been greatly exaggerated. He is, at this very moment, in the Headmaster's Office waiting for the Aurors to take him back to the Ministry. Isn't that true, Mr. Percy Weasley?"

"Yes, that's true," Percy said earnestly. "I saw him transform, myself, from Scabbers to a middle-aged man." He fell silent, thinking. "And he had that Death Eater mark on his left arm."

They sat there, stunned. The implications of a Wizard hiding in their home as a rat hadn't set in yet, just the fact that their sons' pet rat was a Wizard left them breathless.

Gilderoy continued after a moment, saying consolingly, "It must be terrible to learn that a monster, a Death Eater with _dozens_ of murders to his name and who knows how many other nefarious crimes he has committed, has been boarded in your house, close to your children, sleeping their beds for over a _decade_." Mr. and Mrs. Weasley nodded their heads slowly, still trying to come to terms with what they had just learned.

Time to set the charge for the explosion.

"Mr. Weasley," said Lockhart, "I have to ask. Have you had any of those mornings where your wife shows a lot of affection for you for no apparent reason you can remember?" At the blank, not understanding look on Arthur's face, he continued, "Mrs. Weasley, has Percy Weasley ever had complaints of pains in his bum or blood in his stool?" A not-uncommon occurrence in small children as they grow, especially if they are active.

"When he was a child of seven or eight," Mrs Weasley said. There was a very brief pause and then she shouted angrily, " _WHAT DO YOU MEAN_?" Gilderoy probably didn't need to add his anger-increasing spell but he wanted her infuriated _beyond_ common sense.

"There can be a few side effects to sleeping with an adult man, you know?" Lockhart answered delicately, with concern in his voice. "And with an accomplished _obliviator_ , such as Peter, the boy would never remember he had a reason to complain."

Mrs Weasley slowly turned her head towards her 'perfect' son, lunged from her chair, and grabbed him into a fierce hug. She rained kisses all over his face, crying repeatedly, "Not my boy, not my Percy." Then she turned and roared, "WHERE IS THAT BASTARD?" There is no creature more terrifying, or violent, than the female of a species defending her young.

"I believe he is still in Dumbledore's office. If we are lucky, we can confront him before the Aurors take him from the school, and get the truth from him." Lockhart answered in a calculating tone. Molly immediately sstalked out of the room, knocking her chair to the floor as she did so. She knew the way to the Headmaster's Office – the twins had been the cause of more than one visit over the last few years. She had her wand out with murder in her eyes. She was an enraged mother and she was going to fix the Wizard who had _dared_ harm her son!

Mr. Weasley's expression changed to one of horror as he slowly understood the implications of what Lockhart said. He grabbed hold of his son's arm, whose pale face indicated he, too, understood what Gilderoy had implied. Both rushed after Molly, wands in hand. Percy was still a bit confused, trying to think if anything 'bad' had really happened, and terrified of what that might mean. _Were_ there blank spots in his memory of The Burrow? Gilderoy followed fleetly, quickly catching up with the family.

"WHERE THE HELL IS THAT BLOODY BASTARD" Molly yelled as she stormed down the corridor ahead of them and up the stairs to the Headmaster's Office, her magic rolling off her in waves. And she found the rat still there, the Aurors having just placed magic inhibiting cuffs on him to prevent him from escaping, either with magic or as an animagus. Apparently, they had responded a bit more quickly to the famous Dumbledore calling for assistance than they did regular Wizards and Witches. Poppy, Sprout, and Minerva tried to restrain the irate mother after she charged into the large office, while Rita watched, stunned. Bozo took pictures, just as he should.

However, despite their combined strength, they could not hold the berserk Witch back. She threw them off as a bear shakes off dogs and pointed her wand at the accused. Before she could speak a suitable spell, Minerva managed to snatch the wand from her grasp. Molly stood there, her hand out-stretched, and screamed wordlessly in blind rage. Magic poured out of her and hit Peter Pettigrew. There was a blast of flames.

In an instant, he was reduced to a pile of dust, not even having time to cry out in horror and pain. The two Aurors holding him were untouched, their hands not even warmed. The dust blew away in a wind that appeared to be coming from Molly Weasley, leaving only his worn clothes, two wands, and the magic-inhibiting cuffs on the floor.

Everybody stared, shocked. No one had ever seen or heard of such a powerful bout of accidental magic from an adult. It was as if she had more magic than she possibly could contain and it finally found an outlet in the cowering Wizard.

Lockhart, standing in the doorway, watching from behind the shocked Arthur Weasley and his son, said, speculatively, "I think we now know how Voldewhore died." He wandlessly and silently _finited_ the anger spell on the woman, not that she noticed, swaying in the after-effects of transmitting so much magical energy.

This had worked even better than he had hoped. Her outrage had focused everyone's attention on her. No one had noticed him augmenting her magic with his own as they hurried down the corridors behind her, filling her with the raw power she needed to do what she could never have done on her own. Pumping magic into her so that it bled out in visible waves around her as she hurried to the Headmaster's office. The other two Weasleys, wrapped up in their own concerns, didn't notice the colourless beam of energy he kept on her back as they ran behind her.

Even a pensieve memory wouldn't reveal his meddling, as it all took place outside the Headmaster's office.

Fortunately, Bozo managed to capture the event for posterity. No one could accuse Molly of killing a Wizard with her wand. And when, subsequently, the Aurors confirmed she was incapable of wandless magic, they wrote it off as a massive burst of accidental magic brought about by stress of the situation. A mother's love, after all, was a very powerful force, indeed. And no court, especially a Wizarding Court, would convict her, a Pure-blood, of killing a Half-blood, especially considering the circumstances.


	20. Chapter 20 Werewolves? Where Wolves?

_Author's Note: To all those who noticed and told me, thanks for the correction on Slytherin Tower/Dungeon — Oops! I knew that! And it's gratifying to hear that so many are enjoying the story. I hope you enjoy the rest just as much.  
_

 **20\. Werewolves? Where Wolves?**

That afternoon Gilderoy had a short meeting with Harry. He had called the boy out of Gryffindor Tower and walked him a short way up the corridor before setting silencing charms. He was pleased to note that Harry's old hand-me-downs were long gone, and the boy was taking a bit more pride in his appearance and walking with confidence instead of that furtive crouch and sticking to the edges of the corridors he had had at the beginning of the year.

He explained, briefly, what had happened in the Headmaster's Office and why Ron and Ginny had so mysteriously been called to the Headmaster's office. That they would be out of the school for a few days as they dealt with the issues brought about by Pettigrew's discovery. He went on to point out how the startling event at dinner was going to affect Harry's future.

"You see Mr. Potter, now that the truth is known, Mr. Sirius Black will be given a trial — as Lord Black, I promise he will! I will free him from Azkaban, but it _will_ have its implications upon you, _especially_ as he is your godfather.

"For all these years people thought your godfather was the one who betrayed your parents to Voldewhore. The Aurors caught him the very day you arrived at your relatives, at the scene of a great explosion that killed twelve Muggles. They thought that he had also killed Peter Pettigrew. The reason for that was that the surviving witnesses told a tale of how Peter accused your godfather of betraying your parents and killing them, then there was this great explosion, and all that was found of Peter was a single finger.

"But nobody ever checked the facts. Nobody ever questioned the implausibility of _only_ finding a finger after a great explosion. Nobody ever asked Sirius Black what had happened. Everyone just assumed he was guilty, so they sent him to prison. Remember this for the future, Harry, the Ministry is not your friend, they will never act in the best interests of the public, only in their own self-interest and who provides the most bribes. Just look at all the Death Eaters who escaped punishment after the war.

"But now we know the truth.

"I am very sorry that you have to hear the terrible things that happened to your parents all over again. To know that the traitor was in the same room with you most of the time here at Hogwarts must be sickening. But you should know that if Sirius Black, as your Godfather, asks for his right to act as your regent until you reach your majority, you _may_ have to go live with him.

"Your emancipation as Lord Potter does give you many rights, but if he was selected by your parents as your godfather, then he _does_ have the right to review your decisions to make sure you aren't making any gross mistakes or squandering property and money through ignorance or ill-thought plans.

"You might have to face the _awful_ choice of choosing between who you are staying with, the _Dursleys_ , or Mr. Black. It would be terrible for you, I'm sure, but I think, if presented properly before the Wizenmaggots, they _would_ remove you from the Dursleys and _force_ you to live with your godfather. But I promise to pay you a visit wherever you are. And, if you want, for the time being we can neglect to tell your godfather of your other Lordships. That would be a great prank, wouldn't it?

"Now, you and your friends need not serve detentions for a week. Seeing that you have a Quidditch match against Slytherin very soon, use the time well." Lockhart said to Harry Potter.

(◎_◎)

The following Wednesday Harry paced in his office, furious. He had been so pleased that he had successfully diverted attention from the diary, transferring the blame for the "attacks" on Mrs. Norris and Colin to Peter Pettigrew. No one but the Headmaster knew that Peter was innocent of controlling the Basilisk, but he daren't say a word or it would reveal he had known about the Basilisk _and_ the diary's possession of Ginny _and_ the fact that he knew Peter was hiding with the Weasley's all those years. Not to mention that he hadn't done _anything_ to protect the students from what he knew was a deadly threat. No, the Headmaster had to go along with the story, in fact, promote the story, or look like a senile old fool at best or a Dark Wizard at worst.

As it was, he had taken quite a few lumps in the press as they blasted his not knowing about Peter being in his Castle for the last five years. But for the Headmaster that was better than the alternative!

In fact, in view of his tenure as D.A.D.A. Professor this year and his newly discovered access to the Castle protective enchantments, what he had discovered about Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore made him quite angry. The old Wizard had known far more about what was going on in the Castle than Harry had ever conceived. The more he considered his years at the school, the more certain he became that Albus had been the worst sort of manipulator. Especially as he was the only Wizard Harry knew who had four names before his surname. He had to have invented them himself to make himself look more important, as neither his father, brother, or sister had had so many names. And why would a parent lavish all those names on one child but not the others?

Dumbledore's excuses in Fifth Year for not warning Harry about Voldewhore planting visions and reading his mind were laughable. He had known what might happen. Certainly, Snape's attempts to teach him occlumency had been a joke and only made him far more susceptible to a mind attack. All it would have taken was one simple note dropped on his pillow by a house-elf to explain the old goat-shagger's reasons for his avoidance.

And looking back at his first year? The clues fell into his lap. Every time he thought he was hopelessly confused, something happened to clear up the confusion. And the traps! They took no time at all for Quirrell to conquer once he got past Fluffy. And that had slowed the Wizard down only because he hadn't wanted to be obvious when he started his assault for the Stone. That three First Year students could solve the puzzles proved how ineffectual they were. Either the Wizard was senile, or it had all been nothing more than a rat's maze to test Harry. And Harry now figured it was the second choice.

And Second, Third, Fourth, Fifth, and Sixth Years had been the same. The old Wizard had led Harry around by the nose, kept him in the dark and prevented him from doing anything effective, dropping clues when and where Albus wanted. Had he been hoping Harry would die along the way? Flush Voldewhore out, have him waste energy fighting Harry, and then Albus the Great would step in and save the day?

Well, the Deathly Hallows stone sure put paid to the old fart's plans, didn't it do just that! And suddenly there was a real danger that everything _would_ fall apart. But the secretive arse _still_ didn't seem to care, neglecting to teach Harry anything valuable. Did he _want_ Voldewhore to win when he realized he was going to die instead of living to control the Wizarding World in the U.K. as he had always planned?

Harry had concluded Dumbledore was an enemy back at the start of April when he refused to share what he suspected about the horcruxes.

And now this! That idiot Fudge had grabbed the quaffle and instead of freeing Sirius Black, had arrested _Hagrid_! Somehow, that twit's miniscule brain had decided the little play in the Headmaster's office was a mistake, that that hadn't been Peter Pettigrew. He had concocted some strange scenario in his head where it hadn't been Peter in the Headmaster's office but someone polyjuiced as him! Never mind they had several eyewitnesses to his unveiling as an animagus. Never mind he had been in the sight of half a dozen Professors the entire time afterwards. Never mind that you can't create a polyjuice potion using a dead man as a source. Never mind no one even knew where to find anything that would provide a source to create a polyjuiced Peter. Never mind that you can't polyjuice an animagus to appear as anyone except himself when he changes into a human.

Harry wondered if maybe the Headmaster had suggested the idiotic idea to Fudge.

Arrrgh! Harry was almost literally pulling his hair out. Fleecem, Cheatem, and Beatem had already started a full frontal assault on the incompetent dweeb. With the money he was throwing at the Wizenmaggots Fudge wouldn't last a week. But a week was an eternity in Azkaban.

And Harry, Neville, and Hermione! Just as he had done in his Second Year, they would follow the great oaf's clues in an attempt to prove him innocent and end up in the Forbidden Forest facing off with Aragog and his children! And if Gilderoy told them everything was under control, they would ignore him as Harry always ignored adults. To hope he had gained the little Wizard's trust was too much. Hermione might trust him more than any other Wizarding adult, but she wouldn't be able to convince Harry, not after the continual bashing by Snape, the way McGonagall had blown him off in first year, and all the other professors turning a blind eye to the awful things happening to the little Wizard.

Plus, this was the one time Harry/Gilderoy wished Ron would accompany Harry. Fortunately, their friendship had fallen to the point where if Hermione was involved he wanted nothing to do with them. Instead, the arachnophobe would hide in his bed.

The spiders did not know that the Basilisk was gone, the scent of the snake was strong throughout the Castle and it would take months to air it out. In the meantime, the spiders infesting the Castle were making their treks to the Forbidden Forrest as its scent reached them and drove them out. Or the egg cases hatched and the tiny spiders detected the Basilisk scent for the first time.

Harry/Gilderoy would have to double his charms on the group to prevent them heading out without his supervision. Hmm. Now that he thought about it, this would be a fine time to do a little clean-up in the Forest and make it somewhat less Forbidden.

(◎_⊙)

Harry/Gilderoy happened to look out the window towards Hagrid's Hut as he was patrolling the seventh floor a week later and was just in time to see three figures and a large dog disappear into the Forbidden Forest.

Damnit! Hermione was getting too good at finding and removing his alert and tracking charms. He took off at a dead run for his office. He paused only long enough to grab his broom and then he was flying out the window, around the Castle, and soon over the forest. For a moment, he thought he saw something moving below him, but when he looked, he saw nothing unusual — and especially _not_ the children.

He held up his wand and said, " _Point-me Harry Potter_." It quickly indicated the direction he should go and he took off after them again. He had lost precious time running in the Castle, and if he remembered correctly, they were probably already in the claws of Aragog's offspring. Last time, it had been just Fang, him, and Ron, this time it was Fang, Neville, Hermione, and Harry. And Gilderoy wasn't sure if the additional third person might affect the outcome of their frantic escape.

The gibbous moon provided enough light to make it easy to spot the centre of the Acromantula nest in the hollow, the dead trees and webbing strung everywhere were a silent but highly visible giveaway. He halted above where he thought the children were and listened closely using a hearing enhancement charm. He could faintly hear Harry's voice and the clicking from Aragog's. He moved until he was directly over them.

"We'll just go, then," he heard Harry call desperately to Aragog.

That was his cue. He pulled his wand and pointed to the side of where he estimated the children were huddled. " _Incendio_ ," he cried pushing the biggest possible flame he could from his wand. It was like a giant flamethrower, a swath of flames easily ten feet wide splashed to the ground. The dry webbing and long dead trees went up in blaze of fire, rapidly spreading as the fire used the webbing to leap from dead tree to dead tree. He swung his arm in an arc, putting a flaming semi-circular barrier between the children and Aragog, and most of the spiders as well. The spiders screamed and scrambled away from the conflagration, all thought of the chasing the children and dog driven from their minds by the directive for self-preservation. Even the spiders behind them were beginning to flee.

He heard the long lonely sound of a car horn echoing up from the hollow, the headlights almost unneeded in the glare of the swiftly spreading fire. He sent a second blast of flames alongside of where the children were running. While that might drive a few spiders into their path, the Weasleys' former car would easily plough through them on the way out. The rest were scrabbling frantically to run away from the wall of fire, which the children and car were skirting.

In the meantime, he shot over to the opposite side of the hollow and began a circle around the perimeter, lying down a curtain of fire and trapping the fleeing spiders between the fire at the centre of the hollow and the one at the perimeter. Aragog, he was sure, would hide and survive in his cave, but the vast majority of the spiders would perish in the flames, he hoped. At the very least, he would decimate the horde.

Before he could complete more than half of his circuit, the entire hollow was an inferno. And he had caught a large percentage of the spiders in the blaze, easily half of them. He turned and headed back to the Castle, the glow of the fire lighting the sky behind him. It would take a long time for the spiders to regroup and recover — spiders store their egg cases in their webbing, and the fire had destroyed all the webbing.

He managed to arrive at the edge of the Forest nearest Hagrid's hut just as the car did. He watched, amused, as Fang practically flew to the hut as he exited the car and ran. He was much less amused when he saw several figures rise up from the cover at the edge of the Forest and grab the three children as they tried to follow Fang while the car took off back into the forest. From their stealthy actions, it was clear the attackers were up to no good.

He quickly fired a series of stunners, hoping they wouldn't not notice until it was too late. Unfortunately, although he did hit one of their number, the others nimbly dodged out of the way. It was interesting that none of them made an effort to _ennervate_ their fallen comrade or responded with magical spells.

"Try that again and we'll kill them," called a voice from the group. "Try to escape and we'll do the same."

Interesting, they still weren't trying to hit him with any spells. Harry/Gilderoy drifted down to the ground and closer, stopping only a dozen feet away from the group.

They spread out, four men it seemed; three were each holding one of the children. Harry was the farthest to the right, then Hermione, and then Neville. The fourth man stood to the side of the man holding Harry.

Under the cover of getting off the broom, Gilderoy cast a quick _serpensortia_ spell at his left hand and called forth a coral snake, catching the small snake on his broom by his hand. A second wandless silent spell from his left hand magnified the potency of the snake's venom by a hundred — what would normally take forty-five minutes to take man down to a coma would now do so in less than thirty seconds, incoherency and loss of muscle control would set in in less than ten seconds.

While the apparent leader said, "If you come quietly, we shan't kill you," Harry/Gilderoy hissed quietly under his breath to the snake _§Get close and attack the man with the girl when I say the word NOW.§_ He dropped the broom, and the snake, to the ground.

"You can't escape, you know," he said in a conversational tone, as if they were discussing the weather.

"Professor . . . ." started Hermione, clearly recognizing his voice, but the man holding her jerked her up, cutting her off and showing Gilderoy the knife at her neck.

"Hogwarts' protective enchantments prevent portkeys and apparition," Harry/Gilderoy continued blandly, ignoring her outburst. "And if you harm any of those three, you will take a long time to die. Why don't you just let them go, and I'll let you walk out of here alive."

It had been at least a few years since he had last dealt with a hostage situation, but the tactics were easy to remember.

It was dark, moonlight notwithstanding, and even he had a hard time seeing the small snake as it slithered through the high-cut grass here at the edge of the forest.

"Professor?" said one of the men to the others.

"Which one are you?" demanded their leader, the voice he had heard first. The one holding Harry.

He said, "What?!" Acting offended and sweeping his right hand, he silently conjured another coral snake in his left, also amplifying its venom's potency. Their eyes would follow his moving hand and not notice his left behind him, hiding any slight flashes of light. "You don't recognize _me_?" He shook his head and pretended to be laughing ruefully while hissing, _§Attack the man holding the boy farthest on the left when I say the word NOW.§_ Then he dropped the snake.

"Why, I am Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defence League, five-time winner of _Witch Weekly's_ Most-Charming-Smile Award, Slayer of Basilisks, and Hogwarts' beloved Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor. To truly appreciate what that means, I suggest you read my books. You can start with ' _Break with a Banshee_ ' and then read ' _Gadding with Ghouls._ ' In fact, if you release those three children right now I will be happy to give each of you a complete and personally autographed set of all my books, including my latest when it is released later this year, ' _Burrowing with a Basilisk_.' I'll even include some autographed photos for your lady friends." He paused, as if waiting for them to accept his generous offer. "It is much better to read about my great exploits than to be involved in them, I assure you. Those that become involved usually have very bad endings."

The four men stared at him blankly, before breaking into laughter.

Their leader said, "Actually, you're just the man we want. Tell you what we'll do. You drop your wand right there, and your holdout, and come over here. We'll set these kids free as soon as we secure your hands." The lone man pulled a rope out of his cloak pocket.

It was too bad that no one had ever told the kids the best way to deal with being a hostage — to faint! Trying to hold up and use an unconscious hostage as a shield is almost impossible, as anyone who has ever tried to support a passed-out drunk will attest. Even with kids, it was like trying to lift a child-sized water balloon.

Harry/Gilderoy looked at them, puzzled. What the bloody hell did they want with _him_? "Why, gentlemen, if you had wanted an _interview_ all you had to do was contact my agent and he would gleefully have set it up for you at the earliest opportunity. There is no need for all this _drama_!" He tried to project the air of a celebrity delighted to meet a fan in an unusual situation. "Well, I suppose now that we are all here, perhaps you could tell me what this is about?" And he gave them one of Gilderoy's brilliant smiles.

"Not going to happen. Drop your wands and get over here or the kid gets cut," the man shifted slightly so Gilderoy could see his blade glint in the moonlight.

Gilderoy saw Hermione startle. The first snake had arrived and apparently decided to use the girl as a climbing post to get a bit closer to his target. Her captor gripped her tight and said, "Stop wriggling or I might _accidentally_ cut your throat."

Gilderoy sighed as if much put upon and not realizing the deadly seriousness of the four assailants. "Well," he said lightly, "if you insist." He made a production out of reaching down to his leg and pulling out his second wand, leaving him with a wand in each hand. He placed both wands in his right hand. Then he started walking towards the leader.

"No, professor!" came the exclamation from Neville. "Shut up," came the immediate gruff response. He gasped as his captor did something.

Gilderoy looked up. "Tut, tut, we'll have none of that, my good man," he said. He held his wands by their middles.

The leader spoke up quickly. "No closer! Throw the wands over there!"

Gilderoy stopped and placed his hands on his hips. "Make up your mind! Come here, don't come here, drop the wands, toss the wands. Are you _sure_ you should be in charge?"

The leader growled — aha! — he was a _werewolf_! That made things simpler. He didn't have to worry about wands.

He smiled at the leader. Then he threw the two wands in a long arc to his right. At the same time he hissed _§NOW! §_ The leader's gaze followed the wands. He jerked his attention to his accomplices as two screamed. One yelled, "Shite! Something bit me!" The other just cussed loudly.

The werewolf watched his companions as one grabbed his neck, the other his hand. A long thin rope-like object dangled from each.

In that instant, Gilderoy disapparated to behind the man. He fired off a _reducto_ into the middle of his spine. The werewolf collapsed like a puppet with the strings cut. He knocked Harry down in the process. Harry hit the ground, but rolled away immediately. The fourth man belatedly realized Gilderoy had moved. He jumped forward. He managed to dodge the stunner from Harry's right hand. Then he dodged one of the two simultaneous _reductoes_ Harry then sent. The second caved in his chest. Harry spun to check on the students. They were all standing and pointing their wands at their former captors.

"Excellent show, children!" Gilderoy said. Then he cast quick stunning and binding curses at all five assailants, using both hands. The students were quick to notice him using his hands with no wands in sight.

Neville and Hermione both had taken advantage of their captors shock at being bitten and escaped without injury, except for an accidental shallow cut on their necks from the knives. Hermione had stomped on the man's foot while Neville had just spun away. The two werewolves, though, were already incoherent from the poison and would be comatose in under a minute. Without immediate medical assistance, they would be dead in ten minutes.

" _Accio my wands_ ," Harry said, catching them as they flew to him. He turned to the two students. "Mr. Longbottom, Miss Granger, are you all right?"

"I think so," Hermione said shakily, Neville echoing her a moment later.

"Check each other for cuts, the spell is _episkey_ while concentrating on healing the cuts. Repeat as often as necessary." He was walking over to check on Harry as he said this. He heard them saying _lumos_. Harry was unharmed, standing, and holding his wand on the prone werewolf.

"Excellent, excellent," Harry/Gilderoy said. "You all did an admirable job not panicking and keeping your wits about you!" He walked back to the erstwhile leader of the kidnapers and flipped him over. He didn't recognize the man. He heard a set of _episkeys_ in the background.

"Miksy!"

"Miksy comes when called, Professor Defender."

Sigh, ever since he had dispatched the Basilisk, and the Sorting Hat gave him the Sword of Gryffindor, the House-elves had started calling him the Defender of Hogwarts. It was all a bit much, coming from them, because he knew they truly _meant_ it. He couldn't tell them to stop, they would be deeply hurt — and they wouldn't stop doing it anyway.

"Would you be so kind as to bring me my _veritaserum_ from my office?" The house-elf vanished.

"Did you apparate? You can't have apparated!" exclaimed Hermione, coming over to Harry and Gilderoy with Neville following. "No one can apparate on Hogwarts' grounds."

Gilderoy grinned broadly, "Of _course,_ I didn't apparate, Miss Granger. Everyone knows that Hogwarts' protective enchantments prevent both apparition and portkeys." Unless you are the one controlling the protective enchantments, that is. Forestalling her barrage of questions on what he did do, he said, "The experienced fighter that I am with years of dealing with dangerous creatures, my reflexes are such that I moved so quickly that it merely _looked_ like I apparated."

She closed her mouth. He could see her frown clearly in the moonlight. She couldn't really argue with him, though, he had _agreed_ with her. But nobody could move that fast, so he had to apparate, but he said he hadn't . . . .

It was like watching someone work through the logic of the statement, "I never tell the truth."

The little Wizards looked worried. They were sure that they were about to get into a ton of trouble for being outside after curfew, _and_ in the Forbidden Forest to boot. Hermione's logic puzzle kept her distracted. She would panic later.

Miksy returned at that instant and held out the vial of veritaserum.

Gilderoy kneeled beside the semi-paralysed werewolf and, after forcing his mouth open, carefully placed three drops in the creature's mouth. Then he _ennervated_ him.

"What is your name?"

"Fenrir Greyback," came the somewhat snarled reply. He must be truly enraged to get that much emotion into his reply. Or maybe it was his nature as a werewolf coming through

"Why were you here?"

"I came to kill Gilderoy Lockhart."

Gilderoy exchanged surprised glances with the three students.

"Why?"

"The Carrows think you arranged Malfoy's troubles and exposed Macnair and two others in the Ministry."

"Why did you grab these kids?"

"I thought I could use them to get you out of the Castle to the Forest, where we would ambush and kill you. Five werewolves can easily take out a Wizard."

"What would you have done with them afterwards?"

"Had a bit of fun with the girl, then eat them."

"What are the names of all the Death Eaters you know?"

It was a short list and added no names he didn't already know. Gilderoy re-stunned the werewolf.

Harry looked at him questioningly.

"Children," Gilderoy said quietly, "These men are the worst sort imaginable. You heard what these men planned to do. Do you think they would have _not_ done what they had planned if I hadn't subdued them?" The three slowly shook their heads. "Fenrir has a large bounty on his head," the older Wizard continued. "He is responsible for the deaths of dozens of children and turning scores of others into werewolves so he can add them to his army. He is wanted dead or alive. Do not concern yourselves with what has happened to these parodies of humans, you are blameless and they are not. Unlike many werewolves, they _chose_ to be evil. They will never be able to bother you, or any others, again, that I swear." They stared at him silently.

"By the way," he added, "If I were to officially report these men to the Headmaster, your _other_ adventure tonight might come to light and complicate your lives more than they are now. You have enough detentions already, Harry. Any more and Hermione will have to draw up a colour-coded schedule just so we can figure a way to leave you time to sleep!" Hermione huffed while the other two boys tried to hide grins.

He looked over the three students. "I think it is well past your bedtime. I think you should retrieve your cloak from Hagrid's Hut, Mr. Potter," — that got a long narrow-eyed look from the boy — "and all of you go to bed after a nice hot shower. I will take care of these men and deliver them to the Ministry. Now, go, shoo!" He made hurrying motions with his hands.

The children slowly started off. "Oh, by the way," he called out, "I will ensure that Hagrid will return to us forthwith, you needn't worry about it too much. I already have my solicitors savaging Minister Fudge for his precipitous actions. He will not be Minister for long, just you watch!"

Harry waved an arm in acknowledgement and turned back towards Hagrid's Hut.

Gilderoy sighed.

 _§Are my friends still here?§_ he called out in Parseltongue, startling the three into looking back at him. "Ah," he called out to them, "if you could keep it secret that I am a Parselmouth, I would appreciate it. As you can see, it makes for a powerful weapon if your enemy is unaware."

 _§Yes, Speaker, I am still here,§_ came the twin answers.

The children resumed their march to bed.

Gilderoy said softly, so Harry wouldn't here, _§Excellent, would you be so kind as to bite the bound up men several times each?§_

 _§Yes, Speaker.§ §With pleasure, Speaker,§_ came the twin answers.

 _§And when you're done, make yourselves at home in the Forest, just never bite a student.§_

 _§Yes, Speaker, I can do that,§_ they each answered.

Gilderoy stopped and thought a moment, then conjured up a couple of fat rats from the Hogwarts' kitchens. "And here are two nice, juicy rats for your hard work this night." He laid the stunned rats beside Greyback.

Surprised, the two snakes replied, _§Thank you, Speaker.§_

"And _that_ was the most fun I've had in a thousand years," said Sam, the name Harry/Gilderoy had decided to call the Sorting Hat in lieu of just Hat. Harry blinked, startled, he had forgotten he was still wearing Sam from his night patrol in Hogwarts. He shrugged, at least Sam got see a bit of adventure.

Fifteen minutes later, a pile of five bodies spilled out of the phone-booth elevator entrance into the Ministry Atrium. Stuck to one of them was a note:

.

 _I'm terribly sorry about the mess. Just a short while ago I saw these men attack some children walking home close to the edge of the forest near my abode. When I interrupted them, they told me it was none of my business and threatened to kill the children unless I cooperated. I managed to surprise them. During the duel they fell into a snakes' nest, were severely bitten, and died. The children were unharmed and I sent them on their way after making_ sure _they wouldn't tell their relatives or friends of their adventure. No need to call the obliviators.._

 _If there's any kind of reward for these men, please have it donated to the Children's Ward at St. Mungo's Hospital._

(⊙_◎)

 _Fenrir Greyback Dead_ , screamed _The Daily Prophet's_ Thursday headline. Below was a concise story about how a pile of dead werewolves arrived at the Ministry in the dead of night under mysterious circumstances. Following that was a very long and very lurid article on Greyback's life and crimes. Several other articles detailed the fate of some of his victims.

Unfortunately, there were no stories about Gilderoy, and after the great battles of the night before, he was more than a little restive. Harry consoled him with the thought that the Hufflepuff cup would soon be in their hands and his name generating more headlines.

And that call came the next day in the morning. At dinner, he sent an owl to Madam Bones. At four, after his last class let out, he apparated to the palliative care building in Perth and ten minutes later walked out. As far as anyone knew, the old woman's next of kin — funny that they hadn't known she had any — had arrived and removed the body for burial. As she had died of old age — heart failure — there would be no need to go through the Coroner's Office.

The next day was the beginning of the hard part.

"Ah, Madam Bones! A pleasure to see you, as always," Gilderoy said as he entered her office. He was dressed in his finest lavender robes, upgraded to Acromantula silk after the Goblins had paid his Basilisk ingredients' buyout price.

"And you, too, Mr. Lockhart."

"Excellent news, is it not, that Fenrir Greyback is dead, don't you think? But what a strange way to die! Poisoned to death by snakes not native to Scotland, how strange." He paused a moment as if to think.

"I heard a rumour that some disgruntled Death Eaters commissioned him to kill me, don't you know? The werewolves must have been on their way to find me when Greyback ran afoul of his desire to cause mindless mischief and mayhem.

"It was just a stroke of luck that he ran up against someone capable of sorting them out before they had a chance to do any real damage. The children involved, I'm sure, are thankful for their selfless protector. I'm sure they would be telling all and sundry if only they could. Five werewolves against one Wizard and rescuing three helpless children from certain death. The skill and talent it must have taken rivals my own, I dare say! I wish I could claim such a fantastic battle for one of my books. It would be another bestseller, I'm sure."

He sighed theatrically, his gaze roving over her office. "Anyway, the rumour says the Carrows, Amycus and Alecto, think that I, _somehow_ , was involved in Lucius Malfoy's death, as well as the unmasking of Macnair and a few other hidden Death Eaters here at the ministry, can you believe it?" He shook his head sadly. "How they could think that is beyond me. Why some people seek a scapegoat for their own incompetence, I do not understand. After all, is it not the case that it is a mistake to attribute to malice what might simply be the result of incompetence or stupidity?"

He looked directly at her. "By the way, has the Dark Mark alert and tag spell on the Ministry's floo's yielded any interesting finds? I should imagine that if someone arrived whom you didn't know was a Death Eater that that would mean you could safely administer veritaserum to them. After all, they were never given a trial and therefore you don't _know_ if they were forced to take the mark, do you? Even if you can't do that, it would be nice to know whom to watch for . . . shall we say . . . underhanded activities, wouldn't it? Not to mention whom they associate with and whom might share their proclivities. And no one except perhaps the Unspeakables need ever know how you came upon such information.

"After all, we both know Voldewhore is trying to come back. It would be better to know who his allies in the Ministry are before that happens so you can plan accordingly."

Gilderoy knew they hadn't yet put up such a spell or he would have felt it today. A gentle reminder was in order. Plus, his preceding monologue let her know in no uncertain terms that he was claiming to be the source of the gift of dead werewolf fugitives.

She just stared back at him, her face carefully blank. Damn, he was coming across as too competent, he had expected her to roll her eyes at the very least. Well, at least one person in authority would take him seriously when he made suggestions in the future.

Finally, she said, "What brings you to my office today?"

"I want to go to Azkaban." He left off, ' _to rescue Bellatrix Lestrange_.'


	21. Chapter 21 Slight of Hand

**21\. Slight of Hand**

"Azkaban?" She was puzzled at the request.

"Well, Madam, as you know, there are two members of House Black currently incarcerated there. One for just cause, the other not. And I am Lord of House Black. It is incumbent upon me to check on members of my House, no matter their station or situation."

Her eyebrows went up. She said, incredulously, "Lord Black?"

He gave her a broad smile, languidly held out his right hand, and flashed the House Black Lord's Ring. He then pulled out his wand and held it up. "I swear on my Magic and my Life that I am Lord Black, of the Ancient and Noble House Black. So mote it be. _Lumos_." His wand tip glowed brightly.

She sat back in her chair. "Well. That was unexpected. How? And why?"

He looked back at her, "That is a long and complicated story which I'm sure you would find incredulous. And I only discovered the situation by accident when demonstrating to Mr. Potter how the Goblins conduct Heritage Searches after he had done his. I was truly expecting a 'no response.'" She nodded her understanding, and a smile flitted across her lips. Ah, yes, he realized with some satisfaction, she _had_ heard about Harry's inheriting a few extra Lordships.

"Quite a surprise, I tell you! But it's true or I couldn't wear the ring. I've already been to visit the house at 12 Grimmauld Place, and discussed a few things with the House-elf in residence."

"Amazing," she said. She shook her head, then looked up at him. "Azkaban?"

"Yes. I want Sirius moved from the High Security Section of the prison to the lowest security, if not to a holding cell here in the Ministry, while my lawyers deal with getting his release. We now know that Peter Pettigrew did _not_ die eleven years ago, which throws doubt onto _all_ the assumptions made when he was picked up. Add to that that Sirius was never interviewed, much less charged or convicted of a crime, and you're looking at a huge public relations disaster for the Ministry. Not to mention owing compensation for abusing so blatantly the Scion of House Black."

She was staring at him again, astonished.

"Why, if the Ministry can grab the Scion of such an important and Noble House and lock him up without evidence or a trial, or even an _official_ charge, what is to prevent them from doing the same to the son or daughter of _any_ member of the Wizenmaggots, or even _your niece_?" He was letting her know in the plainest terms possible the strategy he was going to pursue to free Sirius. "True, there was a war on, but afterwards? What's the excuse for not reviewing the evidence to make sure the ones placed in Azkaban were _not_ innocents caught in the wrong place at the wrong time?"

And he knew she could see how powerful a strategy it was — both Dark and Light Houses would unite to defend their sons and daughters from what happened to Sirius once they realized how vulnerable they were. No Ministry, either Light or Dark, could be trusted with such wide reaching powers.

Using his fame as Lockhart and the powerful political power of House Black he could make sure that _The Daily Prophet_ would keep this case from being hidden from the public. Sheer self-interest would force the Wizenmaggots to dump the Minister and any who stood with him.

He paused and smiled grimly, "The Minister and Ministry are in for some hard times ahead. If you maintain the status quo you will mitigate your portion of the blame not at all. The Nazis proved how ineffective, "I was only following orders," is as a defence. Moving Sirius and getting him the medical assistance he needs will go a long ways towards showing you knew nothing of the true situation, and that you are acting in good faith. To the public you will appear an impartial administrator of justice. After all, if you ascertain he is guilty then nothing has been lost. But if you find he _is_ innocent and yet you did nothing to help in the meantime . . . .

"I'm not one to tell another how to run her department, but if I were you, I would immediately send Aurors to interview Mr. Black with veritaserum and determine the truth. After eleven years in that horrid place, I'm sure he is incapable of the fortitude even to _attempt_ to fool the potion."

She was now looking thoughtful.

"By the way, as godfather to Harry James Potter, shouldn't it have been impossible for him to act in a manner that threatened Harry and his parents? His oath should have killed him if he really intended to hand Lord Potter's son over to Voldewhore."

He gave her one of his wide smiles, displaying his perfect teeth.

"So, with that mind, I'd like to visit Azkaban as soon as possible to assure Sirius I am taking the steps needed to get him out. And while I am there, I would like to visit Bellatrix Lestrange. As a daughter of House Black it is incumbent upon me to verify her condition and situation in the prison.

"And I would like to verify that Mr. Rubeus Hagrid is being treated in the manner promised by Minister Fudge. Mr. Hagrid is a good friend of mine and I find it deplorable that the Minister had him incarcerated simply because he needed a scapegoat. And this is the second time for poor Mr. Hagrid.

"And that's another case of the Ministry grabbing someone right off the street and throwing them into Azkaban without charges, trial, or conviction — am I seeing a pattern here of Ministry misbehaviour? Once is an accident, twice is coincidence, three times is malicious intent! What would _The Daily Prophet_ and Rita Skeeter have to say about such a charge? I shall make sure to include the facts of his case with Sirius Black's case when next the Wizenmaggots meets.

"In fact, I herewith officially petition you to release Mr. Rebus Hagrid, or at the very least, move him here to a Ministry holding spell, as a show of good faith." He pulled a parchment roll from his pocket and handed it to her.

And that certainly put Madam Bones on the hot-seat — do what she should legally do and risk the heat she would get from the Minister or fall with the Minister when the Wizenmaggots roasted him for illegally throwing innocent victims into Azkaban. Gilderoy had a good idea which way she would jump.

"I would like that visit to be this afternoon."

He sat back and waited.

Two hours later, they were standing in the Warden's Office on Azkaban.

"Here's the order for Mr. Rubeus Hagrid transferring him from Azkaban to a Ministry holding cell," Madam Bones handed a scroll to the Warden as Gilderoy watched. As she had explained before leaving the Ministry, they would give him veritaserum once he was in the Ministry. If, as Gilderoy had said, he had nothing to do with the incidents in question they would immediately release him. Furthermore, they would question him regarding the incident from fifty years ago, and take action, if any, accordingly. They would be commute the fine for having a creature classified as XXXXX as a pet to time served. Madam Bones had not asked Harry how he had obtained his facts.

After perusing the scroll, the warden called to one of the guards, and said, "John! Fetch the prisoner known as Rubeus Hagrid and bring him here."

While they waited, she handed the warden a second scroll, "And here's the order for Mr. Sirius Black transferring him from Azkaban to a Ministry holding cell."

After a sharp look at the Witch and examining the scroll intently, he said, "Are you sure, Madam? He's one of our most dangerous prisoners. He's said to have been He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's most important lieutenant."

"Apparently, the rumours of his association with Death Eaters and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named are just that, rumours. That's why we're taking him to the Ministry for questioning. There seems to be considerable evidence he might just be innocent — that he simply was in the wrong place at the wrong time."

The warden gave her an appalled look. "No!" he said, aghast.

She nodded.

He sighed, and called to the guards in the outer office, "Gary! Take three others and fetch prisoner Sirius Black. Maximum security!" As an aside, he said to his superior, "Just a precaution. As you said, 'it appears,' and we all know that sometimes appearances can be wrong."

Again she nodded. And so they waited in silence.

Hagrid must have been close because less than a minute later he walked in with his guard.

"Professor Lockhart!" the half-giant exclaimed. He looked worse for the wear, as if he hadn't slept well in days — and he probably hadn't — and there was a sense of depression and desperation about the man.

The head of the D.M.L.E. looked up at the big man and said, "Professor Lockhart has brought evidence that your current incarceration here is a mistake of justice. We are transferring you to the Ministry for further questioning. If it goes as we suspect, you will be released from custody no later than this afternoon, with a letter of apology from the D.M.L.E."

Hagrid looked close to tears in relief, "I _knew_ the Headmaster wouldn't forget me! Thank ye, Professor, thank ye."

Madam Bones spoke up, "Mr. Hagrid, the Headmaster had nothing to do with this. Professor Lockhart arranged everything."

Gilderoy said, "Hagrid, how good to see you. I see you have survived here, if not exactly thrived, but be of good cheer!" He gave the half-giant a blinding smile. "As Madam Bones said, I've arranged for your release after a few questions. By evening you'll be back in the Great Hall having supper with the rest of the staff and this will all be a fading memory!"

Hagrid frowned and said more to himself than anyone else, "The Headmaster didn't send you?" And stepped back to lean against a wall, frowning. His guard settled beside him, alert and wand out. Just because a prisoner appeared calm didn't mean he wasn't planning something untoward. Or wouldn't suddenly decide his best opportunity was to go on the offensive and attack.

The warden and Bone went into a discussion of the prison and the warden took the opportunity to present some items that he felt needed her attention. Gilderoy spent his time examining the office and, surreptitiously, taking a good hard look at the protective enchantments in place over the prison. He had to admit, they were quite effective at keeping ordinary prisoners in place and average Dark Wizards at bay. They would need significant upgrading, though, to hold out against what Voldewhore could bring to bear. He developed a few suggestions on improvements as he waited.

Finally, Sirius Black arrived. And boy did he look like hell! Not just thin, but gaunt, his skin stretched over his bones. His eyes, while clear and showing he was paying attention, had a haunted look of terrors never forgotten, nor far from mind. He looked around the room and was surprised to recognize Hagrid in one corner and Madam Bones in front of the warden's desk.

Gilderoy immediately greeted the Wizard. "Ah! Sirius Black! It's good to see you!" He gave him a broad smile and walked over to him. The guards stiffened slightly, but didn't interfere. He started shaking the prisoner's like a professional politician, that is, much action and not letting go. "You may not remember me; I was four years behind you at Hogwarts!" He pushed magic through his hand into Sirius, giving him quite a boost. "I've been looking forward to meeting you since Christmas when I discovered _I_ was Lord Black!"

Sirius gave him an astonished look, both at the news and at the sudden flood of magic, pushing him to a level he hadn't had for a decade.

"Can you _believe_ that! Me, Gilderoy Lockhart, not only a member of the famous House Black, but its _Lord_!?"

"Better you than me," mumbled the confused Wizard.

"Why, as soon as I found out, I started researching the family. You can imagine my surprise when I discovered you, certainly the most infamous of the family, had never been given a trial, or even interviewed to see if you really were a Death Eater." He finally let go of the Wizard's hand. That should give the sickly Wizard a jump-start on recovering.

Sirius shook his hand uncertainly, his fingers still tingling from the magical burst Gilderoy had sent him.

"That's why we're here, actually," Gilderoy continued, blithely ignoring the others in the room and their attempts to interrupt. "We're going to take you back to the Ministry where they will finally ask you the questions they should have given you eleven years ago. It's all a formality, really, as they had no evidence to lock you up in the first place.

He looked around the room, "Well, I've said enough for now. I'll let these fine Aurors here take care of you for a while. I'll meet you back at the Ministry when they release you. Make sure you _wait_ for me, though; there are a lot of things I have to tell you. Did you know I'm famous in the Wizarding World? Yes, that's right, famous. I've written ten, can you believe it, ten bestselling books! And I have two more I'm working on right now. People all over the world simply adore me. I'm also the D.A.D.A. professor at Hogwarts, and let me tell you Harry Potter is such a fine lad you'll be amazed!"

"Harry?" Sirius interrupted, "James' son?"

"Yes, yes, of course. James and Lily would be so _proud_ of the young Wizard. He'll be living with you starting this summer. You two will have plenty of time to catch up with each other. I know he's just dying to hear all your stories about his father and mother." Gilderoy stopped and nudged the thin Wizard with his elbow, "And none of those racy ones, you hear? The boy's only twelve and not quite ready to hear what a Ladies Wizard his father was! Although he's already quite infatuated with a certain bushy-haired young Witch, whom I'm sure he will spend hours telling you about. And there's at least two others giving him the eye as well, what with his multiple Lordships and all!"

He stepped back from the confused Wizard. "I would go with you to the Ministry, but being Lord Black means I have one more responsibility, much as I would rather go with you so we could get acquainted." He rubbed his hands together excitedly. "The stories I could tell you about myself you simply shan't believe are true, but they are! I have ten books to show the proof!"

He sighed contentedly. "Well, as I said, I do have another appointment here. I need to see to your cousin, Bellatrix Lestrange. As Lord Black I have to see for myself her condition and situation." He nodded towards, Madam Bones who was watching them with an amazed expression. "She tells me that Bella is far too dangerous to allow out of her cell, so I shall have to visit her. As the Muggles say, if Mohammed can't go to the mountain, then the mountain must come to Mohammed!"

Everyone stared at him as if he were quite barmy. He hoped the Wizard was awake enough to catch all the hidden gems he had included in his apparent ramblings.

He turned to the Witch. "Well, I shouldn't hold you back from your investigations. I would most appreciate it if you could _personally_ see to the interrogation of Mr. Hagrid first, so that Mr. Black has time to take a nice hot shower and get a few healing potions so he doesn't pass out in the middle of your interrogation. And then oversee Mr. Black's interrogation as well. You might learn some interesting facts about Mr. Potter if you examine his story carefully."

He smiled happily, "So, who is the lucky guard who will conduct me safely to see my incarcerated family member?"

Jack was not happy. He clearly wondered what he had done wrong to be consigned to escort this idiotic airhead dandy to see Bellatrix Lestrange. The man had done nothing but talk about his books and adventures at a breathtaking rate, not even noticing Jack's very unsubtle hints that he didn't care. The only reason he hadn't told the Wizard piss-off was that he obviously had extraordinary pull to get Madam Bones and the warden hopping to his tune.

"Here she is," he said tersely, interrupting the prat in mid-sentence in some silliness about curing a werewolf. "Hey," he yelled at the woman in the cell, "Get off your arse. Ya got a visitor." Before he could turn back to Gilderoy, he was hit with a stunner. Before the Wizard could start to fall Lockhart swiftly erected silencing spells and a _Notice-Me-Not_. He did _not_ want anyone to see what he was doing.

Bella unsteadily stood up. "Who the bloody . . . ," she started, only to receive a stunner as well. Moving quickly, Gilderoy removed the shrunken corpse from his bottomless bag. He placed it inside the cell. He restored it to full size, then summoned Bella. He compared them side-by-side. He cast a spell duplicating all of Bella's scars and features.

Her own mother wouldn't be able to tell them apart.

He swapped Bella's prison attire for the old woman's hospital gown, and then shrunk her to doll size. He summoned her and placed her in his bag, carefully hiding it in his pocket. He took out the Golem paper and carefully placed it inside the dead woman's mouth. He touched the paper in her open mouth and poured magic into it, charging its runes. He waited a moment, closed its mouth, and then said, "Stand up." The body climbed to its feet. "Instructions. You will stay in the bed as much as possible. When Dementors arrive, moan as if in pain. When guards arrive, turn your back to them. Do not speak to them. Dump any food into the disposal hole in the corner. If anyone suspects you aren't Bellatrix Lestrange, or Bella, or they think something is wrong, whisper the word 'dead.' Otherwise, after twenty days, whisper the word 'dead.' Turn around and face the bed. When I _ennervate_ the guard, go to the bed and lie down. End instructions."

When it said the activation word, "dead," the paper would vanish. With the paper gone, the runes that preserved the body and allowed it operate would vanish as well, and the body would appear to have "died." His changes to its features would last a year, at least, and by then normal decay would render it extremely difficult to determine that the body wasn't really Bella. Only a muggle DNA test would prove otherwise.

The entire operation had taken less than a minute.

He turned to the guard and used magic to lift and place him leaning against the wall. He casted a _confundo_ followed by an _ennervate_. As the guard blinked his eyes, the _confundo_ preventing him from being completely cognizant of his surroundings, Gilderoy dismissing his silencing spells and the _Notice-Me-Not_.

The golem slowly began walking to the bed. He turned to the guard, saying, "Thank you for your assistance. I see she is alive and as well as can be expected. Let's go back." The Golem laid down, with its back to the cell door.

The guard was more than happy to leave this level of the prison and the Demontors hovering at the far end of the corridor.

The walk back was just as boring as the walk in, from the guard's point of view. He was close to strangling the git he was escorting by the time they reached the warden's office. If he never saw or heard of Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defence League, five-time winner of _Witch Weekly's_ Most-Charming-Smile Award, Slayer of Basilisks, and Hogwarts' beloved Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor, he could die happy.

For his report, he just mentioned they went to the cell, the Witch stood up, cursing them, and then they left. He never suspected anything unusual had happened during his escort.

Gilderoy caught up with Madam Bones in the Auror department just as they were ending their interrogation of Hagrid. As he had told her, Hagrid was innocent and had provided a memory of his arrest by the Minister where the Minster admitted he had no reason other than the infamous covering-your-arse.

Madam Bones was furious. "The Minister is _NOT_ an Auror, he has no authority to do what he did," she fumed. "As soon as we finish interrogating Sirius Black, I'll call the Wizengamot for a special session to hear these cases. Once they see that memory, he's history!"

"And if," she turned to look at Gilderoy, "if the case against Sirius Black is as flimsy as you claim, we can get him out of here Saturday." They crossed the corridor to the next cell.

If an innocent man's life weren't at stake, Gilderoy would have been laughing at the expressions of the Aurors as at each answer to every question they asked demonstrated just how badly the Ministry had handled things eleven years ago.

Bones remanded Sirius, as a Joe Bloggs, to a Ministry cell pending Wizengamot review of his "case" or rather lack of a case. In the meantime, she sent for a Healer to help him recover from his ordeal in Azkaban. Gilderoy promised to see him when the Wizenmaggots met or on Saturday, whichever came first.

(⊙_⊙)

The gaunt woman on the bed looked hideous. Her hair was a rat's nest. Her fingernails were all broken, cracked, and caked with dirt. In fact, dirt caked her most everywhere. If he had found her outside in a field or forest, he would have thought her dead. Her face, even asleep, was a mass of worry lines.

Gilderoy sighed and looked around the room. Ever since he conceived his plan, he had been preparing. This room was a combination of the former dungeon cells under Grimmauld Place, accessed through a staircase in the boiler-room. He had combined several cells to create an upper-class bedroom. Fine curtains hid a window charmed to show a view of the Thames. There was nothing to indicate the room was actually twenty feet underground.

A matching carpet and pale-white coloured walls brought warmth to the room. A door led to a full bathroom with both shower and bathtub. Beside it was a full closet, currently bare. The furniture, beautifully appointed, was a matching set of drawers, bed, side tables, and plush chairs. The paintings on the walls were Muggle landscapes. Hidden runes inscribed on each piece prevented its transformation into anything else, and made each impervious to breakage or removal, preventing the occupant from fashioning a weapon. The walls, floor, ceiling, and doors were similarly protected from mayhem. The entry door and its wall were transparent from the outside so he could observe where she was before entering the suite.

Even if she somehow got her hands on a wand, she couldn't use anything inside the suite to her advantage.

"Kreacher."

"Master calls Kreacher?" The house-elf stared at the stranger in the room. His brow furrowed. She looked like a Black, but he did not recognize her.

"Kreacher, that woman is Bellatrix Lestrange, formerly Bellatrix Black, a daughter of House Black. She has been in Azkaban. You are to care for her, but she cannot command you to do _anything_. If she asks for food, bring it. If she asks for drink, bring either water or butterbeer, nothing stronger. Use _only_ the special plates, cups, and silverware I charmed. Convey to me any requests she may have. Do not bring her anything else without my permission. If she wants something to read, point her to my books." He indicated the stack of books on an end table. "She is confined to this suite. You are to prevent her from leaving should she attempt to so without my expressed permission. If she tries to use magic, tell her to stop or you will put magic suppressing cuffs on her.

"Do not communicate knowledge of her to anyone without my express permission. You are not to convey to anyone that you know anything about Bellatrix except that you believe she is in Azkaban. If someone asks, you haven't seen her, you haven't heard from her, you don't expect to hear from or see her. The last you heard, a decade ago, she was in Azkaban. As far as you know, she still is there. If someone asks you to take her a message, say house-elves cannot enter Azkaban. If someone tells you she is dead, acknowledge their statement, and then refer to her in the past tense only. Do you understand? Her presence here is a House Black secret, do not divulge it to _anyone_ without my permission.

"You are not to divulge my identity as Lord Black to her, nor where she is, except that she has been rescued from Azkaban. Warn her that attempts to discern either of those on her part will result in you not speaking with her entirely. You are not to discuss anything that has happened since she was incarcerated. You are not to tell her you are the House Black house-elf. No news about the family, nothing. Whether she stays free of Azkaban depends on her cooperation."

"Yes, Master. Kreacher understands, Master."

"Thank you, Kreacher. Miss Lestrange, née Black, is a Pure-blood. Serve her with honour within the constraints I have given you."

Kreacher actually bowed to him, saying, "Thank you, Master. Thank you." Having a true Pure-blood to serve was heaven to him.

"To start with, prepare a thin soup with crackers and water for her first meal. Wake her when you place the food out for her. Then draw a bath while she is eating. Over the next few days work up to serving her full meals. While she is bathing, go through the Black vaults for appropriate day and sleep-ware. Resize them to fit her as needed, and remove from them any indications that they came from House Black stores. If there is nothing, let me know. I will provide potions to help her recover. If there are any problems, let me know as soon as possible."

(◎_⊙)

Just to see if he could do it, Gilderoy had the Castle protective enchantments filter out Hagrid's return from the information flow. Completely confident that the Great Dumbledore had engineered his release, Hagrid was puzzled that Albus seemed so surprised when he came through the Professor's' Entrance beside the Headmaster's Table. Hagrid began to wonder if the Headmaster _hadn't_ been working towards his release.

Then he heard the Headmaster ask, "Professor Lockhart, how did your publishing emergency work out? You were gone all day, as you warned me might happen."

"Ah, yes, it came to a noteworthy conclusion," the smarmy professor answered. "The publisher lost an entire chapter's worth of pages out of the manuscript of my newest book, _Burrowing with a Basilisk_. Somehow, someone accidentally mislaid the pages. They only noticed when the total page-count came out much less than projected. Fortunately, I took my copy of the manuscript along with me. We had to compare every page of my manuscript with their layout, page-by-page, until we found the missing sections. It changed the layout for the rest of the book and we spent _hours_ trying to salvage what they had done so far.

"My mother has always said that there is something in printer's ink that makes typesetters stupid, and after all the problems I've had with my books over the years, I certainly believe it. Why, one time they put the wrong page-header on an entire chapter! Another time they reversed the order of the pages in an entire signature!"

Hagrid tuned out the rest of what Lockhart was saying, disturbed at what he had heard. He didn't notice the Headmaster's pained look at getting far more detail than he ever wanted in reply to his simple question, as Lockhart went on and on with anecdote after anecdote of publisher problems he had encountered over the years. It seemed he had quite a lot of them and he had no problem retelling each one in excruciating detail.

Watching from the opposite side of the Headmaster, Gilderoy had no problems following what Hagrid was thinking, just from his expressions and where he was looking: Had Professor Lockhart, whom he thought of as a pompous, self-important git, _really_ been the only one interested in helping him in his time of need? Gilderoy knew the Aurors at the Ministry told Hagrid no one from Hogwarts had communicated with them in the slightest about himself. _No, that couldn't be right, could it?_ His frown seemed to say. But then why had the Headmaster been surprised to see him? Hagrid gave a worried look to the Headmaster, who didn't notice as his attention was on Gilderoy. And why had Lockhart lied to the Headmaster about what he had done this day? Hagrid wore his troubled expression all though the meal, but most thought it was just an after effect of his stay at that awful prison.

Hagrid apparently decided to do as Professor Lockhart had requested and not mention that Sirius Black was also no longer a resident of Azkaban.

(⊙_◎)

How Madam Bones managed to keep her agenda a secret Gilderoy never figured out, but on Saturday there was a special Wizengamot meeting. The session started as normal with the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot — delightfully _not_ Dumbledore, but unfortunately being Minister Fudge — asking, "Is there any important Member business that needs to be conducted before this session begins?"

Gilderoy, in the Gallery, stood, "If it pleases the Court, I have such business." Today was a lilac day, and he knew he looked resplendent.

"Speak."

Gilderoy them proceeded to stun the membership with his announcement that he was Lord Black and would be assuming the currently unoccupied seat of House Black. It took his Magical Oath, and Minister Fudge's thorough examination of the Lordship ring, to assure them he wasn't lying.

The dark-tending Ancient and Noble House Lords were most upset. Many had extensive financial ties to House Black and could not afford, literally, to have the Lord of House Black unhappy with them. Whichever way he voted, they would have to side with him, no matter their personal preferences, even if the vote was against their own business interests.

Minister Fudge repeated the request for Member business. This time Professor Sinistra stood and rocked the court again by announcing she was the Proxy voter for Lord Slytherin, with a Goblin certified parchment. Professor McGonagall being proxy for Lord Gryffindor followed this. In a move that brought the most outcry from the membership, but that the membership rules _did not_ _exclude_ , Goblin Griphook took the proxy for Lord Gaunt.

When they all sat together in a block, everyone knew the political landscape of Wizarding England had just flipped upside down and backwards. The block of dark-tending Ancient and Noble House tied to House Black would follow him, and if he voted with the Light Houses as his sitting with Gryffindor indicated, then so would they. That put the Light Houses firmly in control of the Wizengamot for the first time in many decades.

The surprises did not stop there, though.

Madam Bones started the main the session off by bringing in Sirius Black, looking much better after several days of drinking of healing potions and getting peaceful uninterrupted sleep, and pointed out the facts of his illegal incarceration. Penseive memories and a magically binding oath on his life that Sirius did not betray the Potter's nor cause the blast that killed all those Muggles made quick work of the opposition. It wasn't difficult to get a vote releasing him immediately, especially after the Wizengamot saw House Black, Gaunt, Gryffindor, and Slytherin all vote for in his favour.

The Head of the D.M.L.E.'s next order of business was to arrest Minister Fudge in full view of the court for doing the exact same thing to Hagrid that the previous administration had done to Sirius Black, and for blatantly abusing his power as a Minister, as only Aurors are allowed to arrest people.

Gilderoy made a brilliant speech, in his opinion, rehashing what he had told Madam Bones in her office — that if they didn't harshly punish the Minister for abusing his authority by tossing a Wizard into Azkaban sans trial, evidence, or even an accusation, the precedent would bite them in the arse. He, of course, was much more flamboyant and dramatic in his language. The Wizenmaggots quickly convicted the Minister and sentenced him to a year in Azkaban in Medium Security, to begin immediately, and a two thousand Galleon fine for the mental suffering inflicted on Hagrid. The Ministry and Hagrid would split the fine fifty/fifty. Because a sitting Minister can't be sent to Azkaban, the Wizenmaggots held a Vote of No Confidence. The Aurors conducted Mr. Fudge out of the room and on to Azkaban.

Madam Bones had warned Madam Professor Griselda Marchbanks of the coming contretemps and prevailed upon her to take the position when it became available. It took only a few moments after Lord Black made the "Vote of No Confidence" suggestion to swear the elderly lady in as Chief Warlock, with her proviso that it be a temporarily appointment. Gilderoy, striking while the Wizenmaggots was still disordered, proposed a thorough examination of the former Minister's finances, as well as his Office and staff, for other improprieties that might need addressing.

This would keep Undersecretary Dolores Umbridge out of the Minister's position for the foreseeable future. Without her major patron, she was at a big disadvantage. With any luck, the investigation would come up with evidence to send her to Azkaban as well. Harry/Gilderoy could only hope.

He also managed to get the anti-werewolf legislation recently passed repealed. He pointed out that if they were going to penalize werewolves for something that happened only once a month, then they should also consider doing the same for Witches. He added, somewhat facetiously, that at least the werewolves had the Wolfsbane Potion to allow them to remain completely in control of themselves. While the Witches were outraged at the comparison, most had to admit that if the anti-werewolf legislation were allowed to stand, it would set a precedent for similar legislation regarding Witches, as he had pointed out.

It was, all told, a very productive session for Gilderoy and the rest of the Wizarding U.K.

After the session officially closed, he leaned over to Professors Sinistra and McGonagall. "Excuse me, ladies, by I fear I must abandon you to the sharks here. I need to catch Mr. Black before he has a chance to leave the premise. He could very well accidentally cause us problems if he were to roam around on his own. Plus, I need to apprise him of the situation of his home. I'm sure he has no idea that he has a place to stay."

He wasn't worried about Griphook. He was a Goblin and the Wizard or Witch that tried to gladhand him would lose the hand.

At their understanding nods, he quickly vacated his chair and made his way to the main doors, slipping out before most noticed he had left his seat. He quickly ducked into the side-room down the hall that Madam Bones had reserved for Mr. Black to wait in after the trial. She had told the Wizard of Gilderoy's desire to meet with him after the session concluded.

Harry/Gilderoy hoped the newly freed Wizard would wait. Trying to track him down would be quite difficult if he decided immediately to flee the Ministry.


	22. Chapter 22 Villains and Fools

**22\. Villains and Fools**

"Thank you, Sirius, for waiting!" he called as he entered the waiting room. "I know it was difficult for you, but finally we have secured your release!"

Sirius turned to face him as Gilderoy entered. Sirius, it was clear, was still surprised that he was finally able to go home, and clearly wondered where home was.

"Now, Sirius, much as I would like to take you to lunch, I fear we would be trampled by well-wishers and attacked by those who hadn't yet heard the news. That being the case, I think we should adjourn to your home."

"Home?"

"Oh, yes, much has changed since you were incarcerated. You did hear, did you not, that both of your parents have passed on?"

Sirius gave a slow nod. "Not that I miss them."

"Based on the stories I heard, I imagine not.

"Anyway, now that we've taken care of _that_ problem, it's on to the next! First, as I told you, I am Lord of House Black." He held out his and with the ring and let Sirius give it a good look. The thin Wizard nodded warily, "Yes, that's the real one; I can feel the family magic."

"Seriously, Sirius, why so serious, you old dog? Although being serious when you _are_ Sirius can only be expected, right Sirius?"

The Wizard stared at him a moment, then burst out laughing.

Gilderoy gave him a broad smile. "That's much better. We'll be seeing more of that in the future, I dare say.

"Now, then, I'm sure that wherever you were staying eleven years ago is long gone by now, so I've prepared you a room at your old home, Twelve Grimmauld Place."

Sirius made a face of disgust.

Still smiling broadly, Gilderoy said, "Not to worry, my good Wizard. You shan't recognize the place once we get inside."

Sirius was not convinced.

With the aid of two glamours the two pranksters managed to sneak out using the Ministry floos without attracting any serious attention.

The sitting-room they arrived in was nothing like what the former inmate expected. He stood, staring, mouth open in shock. The room was done up entirely in light purple hues. The rug was almost blue, its lighter shading offsetting the lavender drapes, which were wide open to allow in a generous swath of sunlight. The couch was a light purple, with matching plush chairs beside polished dark wood tables. The wallpaper was another shade of light purple with a discrete pattern of slightly darker French fleurs-de-lis. A blue enamel vase with a generous bouquet of roses sat on a walnut corner-table, the reds complimenting the room nicely. A vermillion curio cabinet sat in the opposite corner. Over the fireplace was an enormous painting of Gilderoy wearing his lavender robes. He waved gaily at Sirius.

It was as unlike the dismal dark dank room Sirius remembered as a child as you could get.

"I hope you like what I've done here," said Gilderoy. "I've tried to make it as homey and welcoming as I can."

"Bloody hell!" Sirius half-whispered. "Is this really Twelve Grimmauld Place?"

Harry grinned widely, "I'm glad you like it. Let me give you a tour. I've done some remodelling as well."

Light blue colours decorated the entry hall and staircase. Underneath the window to the right of the door was a bench. There was a bit of space between that bench and the railing for the staircase landing, in which a hat rack stood. The house-elf heads that used to adorn the wall as the staircase headed up to the first floor were gone. A discrete door at the other end of the staircase led to the stairs to the basement. Past the staircase were two coat closets and, a bit farther, the ground floor "powder room." Oddly, beside the coat rack was the old troll's foot umbrella stand, although it had been spiffed up somewhat and now sported a manicure with a light purple nail polish on the toes and a matching garter at the top.

The staircase was a u-shaped arrangement. Two steps up from the floor, a landing, then a right turn and along the wall most of the way to the next floor. Then another landing, another right turn, then four steps completed the path to the next floor. This created a small stairwell up to the top floor. With the high ceiling on the ground floor, the second landing was well above ten feet from the floor.

On the hall wall between the sitting-room and the next room, the dining-room, was a portrait of a woman Sirius easily remembered, his mother. They stopped there for a moment, with Harry saying, "Madam Black, may I present the return of your lost son, Sirius." The figure in the portrait studied her son as he glared at her in hatred. She sighed, then said, "Welcome back home, Sirius." He stared at her in disbelief. "Mother," was all he said before shaking his head and walking on.

The dinning-room was entirely in deep royal purples, making the room look elegant. The candles in the two chandeliers reflected off the deep tone wood table with its twelve matching leather upholstered chairs. A lush purple shag rug hid most of the dark wood floor. The lighter purple walls were a solid colour broken by landscape paintings, as well as a self-updating map of the London Underground, in gold frames. The portraits of former Black Lords and Ladies were all absent. Being in the middle of the row house, there were no windows in this room.

Harry explained, "I told your mother about Lord Voldewhore being a Half-blood only interested in power and that he considered the Pure-bloods to be mere cannon-fodder in his quest to take over the world. That he had forced the extinction of more Pure-blood lines in ten years than had disappeared in the previous two hundred. That at the rate he was going there wouldn't be _any_ Pure-bloods left in England in another twenty years. I also showed her how the present Pure-blood lines would reach extinction in another two hundred years without the influx of Muggle-born and Half-bloods into their families, even without Voldewhore's influence."

"He was a Half-blood?"

Harry nodded. "Yes. I have proof positive."

The tour continued with the Smoking Room and Ladies Drawing Room at the back of the house, opening onto a deck that gave onto a lush garden that filled the backyard.

The first floor contained the library and study at the front facing the park across the street. Two normal bedrooms faced the back garden while five magically-expanded bedrooms filled the space between the back bedrooms and the library — each of the magically-expanded bedrooms had its own bathoom. By the stairs was a full bathroom with a play room between it and the back bedroom. The second floor had two bedroom suites, one at each end of the house, with five more magically expanded bedrooms like the first floor, and a game room. The top floor had the master bedroom and Sirius' bedroom. And the attic was the attic.

There was a balcony off the master bedroom. The Library, Sitting Room, Dining Room, Sirius' Room, the second floor front and rear bedrooms, and the Master and Heir's bedrooms all had fireplaces, although only the Sitting Room was hooked up to the public floo network.

The colour schemes were different for each room, using soft greens, browns, blues, and yellows, but were vibrant welcoming spaces.

"When I remodelled I wasn't sure what you wanted to do about your room, so I had house-elves carefully pack up your stuff and leave it in the new Heir's Room on the top floor. Your brother's room I have likewise had everything packed up and left in your room. I think you need to go through his stuff for reasons you will soon find out when you talk with Kreacher."

"That old bastard is still alive?" Sirius said venomously.

"That he is and I would thank you to treat him with respect. I know the two of you never got along . . . ."

"That's putting it mildly — we hated each other almost from the day I was born," he growled angrily.

"Yes, so I gather. But you will treat him with respect, and he will do the same to you."

Grumbling, Sirius followed him to the basement. Sirius stopped at the bottom of the stairs — there was no door separating the bottom landing from the kitchen. "Oh, bloody hell," he said blinking his eyes and squinting.

The kitchen was . . . indescribable. The parts of the walls not covered by cupboards or appliances were an eye-bleeding bright florescent yellow. The cabinets, at least those parts not drawer-fronts or doors, were a florescent pink. The doors and drawer-fronts were alternating in other florescent colours of the rainbow — light-blue, light-green, orange, and red — and while each drawer-front/door was a different colour, they were randomly arranged and not in any kind of repeating pattern. The floor was a checkerboard pattern of stark black and white tiles. The ceiling looked like a rainbow had exploded on it and seemed to glow with an inner light. The enamel pots and pans hanging from the bright purple utensil rack were all each a different colour. Even the kitchen table and its dozen chairs all were different florescent colours.

Eyes sparkling, Gilderoy looked at Sirius, "If you aren't wide awake in the morning, this will do the job for you."

Sirius looked at him, around at the room, than back again. His lips twitched and then he burst out laughing.

Harry cryptically added, "And any meetings in this room will be short and quick."

Harry turned and pulled out his wand. He tapped Sirius with it then turned and tapped a discrete emblem just inside the kitchen from the stairs and on the wall at chest height. The walls turned an off-white colour while the cabinets became a gentle mellow yellow. The floor became a light pinewood grain pattern. The hanging rack, pots, pans, and other hanging utensils turned a neutral grey with black handles. The entire room just made you want to sit down and relax. In the far corner, between the doors that led to the pantry and the storage room, was a Gilderoy portrait, smirking. In the blaze of colours from before, it had been virtually unnoticeable.

"There now, you can touch this to change colour states. Anyone not keyed in coming down the stairs will set the room to its 'bright' setting until someone keyed into this changes it."

Sirius laughed even harder, finally settling to the floor.

"Kreacher," Harry said. The house-elf appeared and cast a disapproving eye on Sirius, but said, "Yes, Master?"

"Tea, please."

"Yes, Master."

Moments later, the two were enjoying their tea. "Kreacher," Harry called again. "Just so you _both_ know," he said to Sirius and Kreacher, "I expect you two to be cordial to each other. No name-calling or insulting. Sirius, that means no pranks. Kreacher, that means doing what you should do when asked, without complaint nor under-breath mumbling insults."

He stared at them for several moments while they glared at each other.

"Although, now that I think about it, if the two of you could figure out a way to prank that Half-blood twat Professor Snape . . . I don't think I would object. He has been just beastly towards Harry Potter."

"Professor!" exclaimed the ex-prisoner, "That . . . that piece of shite is a _Professor_?"

"Yes," was the resigned reply. "He is indeed the Potions professor at Hogwarts, I regret to say."

Sirius was staring at Kreacher with a speculative gleam in his eyes. Kreacher shifted uneasily.

"I'm sure Kreacher shan't mind pranking a vile Half-blood Wizard, will you?" A gleam entered the house-elf's eyes and a bit of smirk appeared on his lips.

"Nothing that will maim or kill the Wizard, nothing that will interfere with his brewing capabilities — he is, after all, one of the few potioneers capable of brewing the Wolfsbane potion for Remus Lupin and the other unfortunates who are werewolves not by choice."

"Remus," Sirius said quietly, distracted from the former subject and now losing himself in the past. Gilderoy sighed. It was going to take quite some work to bring the older Wizard back into some semblance of normality.

"Sirius. I have something to tell you that is very important."

The Wizard looked up questioningly.

"Because you are his godfather, I'm going to be bringing Mr. Harry Potter here this summer. I am hoping that we will be able to convince Mr. Lupin to join us here, as well. Between the three of us, I think we can easily keep an eye on the young Wizard."

The other Wizard interrupted, "How is Harry? What's he like? You said he has a girlfriend? Where's he been staying the since I was thrown in Azkaban?"

Lockhart smiled, "Harry is doing quite well and has had some rather interesting adventures last year at Hogwarts — little things like battling a troll, smuggling a dragon out of Hogwarts, being the youngest Quidditch Seeker in a century, coming face-to-face-to-face with evil and Lord Voldewhore. I'll let _him_ tell you all about those, but to get the whole stories you'll need to talk with his girlfriend, Hermione Granger. He tends to downplay his adventures.

"As for where he's been staying — I shan't tell you just yet. He has had a rough childhood and I don't want to see you doing something stupid and abandoning Harry by getting yourself thrown into prison again." His voice grew harsher, "And that _IS_ what you did ten years ago. Instead of staying with _Harry_ , as you should have, as you had _promised_ to do, you set off on a vendetta and ended up in Azkaban. As a result, you are _directly_ responsible for Harry's awful childhood."

Sirius seemed abashed at the rebuke.

"So, before you get a chance to meet the little Wizard, you are going to be staying in St. Mungos until they can take care of your many problems from staying in Azkaban. _Is that clear?_ This is an order from your Head of House."

The Wizard appeared mutinous and Gilderoy could see he was about to object strenuously.

"Sirius," Gilderoy said quietly, leaning forward and placing his arms on the table, "You cannot sit there and tell me that you are in great health, and that you are just as mentally fit today as you were before Azkaban." Sirius sank back into his chair. "We _both_ know you suffered greatly in that place and it's going to take time for you to recover. The harder you work at fixing those problems the sooner you get to see Harry. I _promise_ you it will be this summer. At the very least, he'll visit you in St. Mungos.

"The other thing to remember is that he knows _nothing_ of you except that you are his _godfather_! To him you are stranger and you need to remember that when you meet him. Think of the stories you can tell him about his parents, start concentrating on remembering those!" Harry/Gilderoy sat back.

Sirius was rubbing his forehead, thinking.

"Alright, then," Lockhart said, "Tomorrow we'll head over to St. Mungos and get things started. It's Sunday so they shan't start anything major until the next day. I'm sure the first few days they'll want to keep you there for observation. After that, we'll see about making you an outpatient so you can be here when Harry arrives."

The older Wizard sat straight and looked hopeful.

"Sirius, someday I may tell you the full story, but right now all you need to know is that for various and complicated reasons that defy normal logic, believe it or not, _you_ are responsible for me being the Head of House Black.

"Should you so desire, I will turn the Head of House Lordship back to you," Sirius shuddered at the thought — "but not before I deal with a few problems that Lord Voldewhore has created. The first of which is that he has created Soul Anchors, horcruxes, that have prevented him from dying. Once those are destroyed, I will kill the bastard himself. It is far more complicated than I have described, but that's the gist of the situation." He stopped and took a drink of his tea.

"He's not dead?" The Wizard was appalled.

"Seriously, Sirius, no, he isn't. He currently exists as a wraith, waiting for one of his faithful followers to resurrect him. Harry defeated one such attempt last year, and I did so again this year."

Sirius sat up straight, horrified at this news.

"That's another reason why I want you back in top form as soon as possible. I _need_ you to start teaching Harry and his friends as much as you can about defensive and offensive magic. I fear he's going to need those skills sooner rather than later. There is a dueling room in the former dungeon below. While I'm going after Voldwhore, and I intend to win, there is always the outside chance I might be removed from the scene. It doesn't have to be by a Dark Wizard either. Bloody hell, I could be hit by a bus crossing a Muggle street!

"In any event, I want Harry and his friends prepared for the worst. Once you get out of St, Mungos and we get you up to speed on occlumency, I'll tell you the full story."

"Occlumency?"

"Yes, in case you didn't know it, Voldewhore is an expert legilimens and if you even catch his eye once, he'll know all your secrets. Your _only_ protection is to become an accomplished occlumens. And that would be a disaster of the worst possible magnitude for us. So, that's your first chore after St. Mungos clears you. When you aren't teaching Harry and his friends, you need to work on that.

"In the meantime, let me tell you a bit about myself . . . ."

Leaving Gilderoy in full, "aren't I great" form, Harry turned his attention to how he could possibly get barmy Bella to agree to help him plunder the Lestrange manor and vaults. It really was too bad that the Potter line hadn't been in the business of setting protective enchantments, because to create a protective enchantment you had to know how to take it down. Or a bunch of chivalrous thieves with copious notes on how to break protective enchantments and rob the evil rich to improve their poor selves.

The only guidance he supplied to Gilderoy was to start him off with his adventures so far this year, leaving his fake achievements for last. That this also included many stories of him pranking Harry was merely an accident.

"Oh, did you know that Harry has his own fan-club? He even sells autographed photos to his fellow students."

"What? A fan-club? A _fan-club_?"

(◎_◎)

Harry/Gilderoy watched Bella as she paced in her room. It was Sunday and she looked much better. She was still as thin as a rail, and her bones were easy to pick out underneath her skin, but at least she was conscious and aware of her surroundings — and she had begun to fill out slightly. Her hair was clean and brushed and her nails trimmed. He could see the beauty still hidden by her ordeal, but Kreacher's meals would quickly pack weight on her. In a few weeks, she would be as beautiful as Narcissa or Andromeda. Only if you looked into her eyes would you see the madness lurking beneath the surface. Now would be the time for this, later and she might be too conscious and not nearly as easy to manipulate.

He checked himself in the three-way mirror on the wall behind him to make sure everything was in order. He was dressed in his royal purple robes with matching shoes. His hair was perfectly coiffed. He looked every bit the dandy, as he should. He smiled brilliantly at himself, turned around, knocked on the door to her suite, and then entered.

She spun to face him, but did nothing except study him cautiously.

"I see you are recovering nicely," he said. "I'm sure you have questions, but whatever they are, they are unimportant."

She raised an incredulous, and wary, eyebrow at that.

"As you know from reading my books on the table there, I am Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defence League, and five-time winner of _Witch Weekly's_ Most-Charming-Smile Award. The books don't do me justice, though, I am much more charming and personable in person." He preened as she watched, dumbfounded.

He could almost read her mind from her expressions alone: she was the most dangerous Witch in a hundred years and not only did he not seem to know this fact, he seemed to think that she would be impressed by those obviously fake stories he told in his books. Why, some of the things he claimed were flatly impossible — never mind his claim for stopping the Werewolf with a non-lethal spell, he said he fought the creature hand-to-hand! Considering a Werewolf was three times as strong as a normal Wizard that was unbelievable.

"They also don't mention my latest accomplishments, of course. I am currently the esteemed and beloved Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor at Hogwarts, which has given me two more books to publish! In the first one, I tell the story of how I hunted down and killed the Basilisk that's been hiding in Salazar Slytherin's lost Chamber of Secrets underneath Hogwarts. That one is coming along very nicely, it's in the final editing process and I expect the printer get it into stores by next Christmas! Isn't that thrilling? Another exciting true-life adventure from the one and only Gilderoy Lockhart. My fans will be lining up at stores all over the world!" He sighed happily.

"In the second, I tell the story of how I have scoured the Castle this last year looking for the lost treasures of the Founders, and found them! Lost for a thousand years, but I, Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defence League, five-time winner of _Witch Weekly's_ Most-Charming-Smile Award, and Hogwarts' beloved Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor, Slyer of Basilisks, am the first to find and return them to their rightful place at Hogwarts."

He started pacing as Bella stared at him wide-eyed in astonishment.

"So far I have found Slytherin's Locket, Gryffindor's Sword, and Ravenclaw's Diadem. That leaves only Hufflepuff's Cup on the loose. I _must_ find it to complete the set. Without the last Founder's Treasure, my book will be a _failure_! I _can't_ limit myself to only restoring three of the four Founder's lost treasures, where's the true fame in that? Sure, I uncovered a hidden Dark Wizard hiding at Hogwarts for over five years and saved three students from both a nest of Acromantulas and a pack of werewolves, but what about that last treasure?

"People will say, yes, he found three, but he couldn't find the fourth. If he were as great as he says he is, he would have found that fourth treasure!"

He spun to face her, holding up his index finger in triumph.

"And that's where _you_ come in. I have traced the stories and carefully sifted the evidence. You, yes, _you_ , have the Hufflepuff Cup!"

She looked surprised.

"Didn't suspect that did you? Someone in House Lestrange came across the artefact and never realized what the treasure was they found. Whether it is in your vault at Gringotts or at the Lestrange Manor, I know not, but with your help we _shall_ retrieve it!"

He sighed dramatically, "I tried talking with the Goblins, first, but they were most unhelpful. They absolutely refuse to allow anyone except you or your husband into the vaults. They were quite emphatic about that. Even my extraordinary wiles were unable to move them to cooperate." He shook his head in disappointment. "And, naturally, I cannot access the Lestrange Manor without your permission and presence. Hence, the reason you are here!" He smiled at her broadly.

She stared at him, blinking. "You broke me out of Azkaban to retrieve a _cup_ from my Manor?" She was incredulous.

"Or vault," he added helpfully.

Her eyes narrowed shrewdly, considering her options. He could feel her emotions flicking between hope, suspicion, and surprise before finally settling on a hope.

"And after? If I help you what happens to me after?"

He posed carefully, projecting calm and slight condescension — that should anger her a bit and the anger would cloud her judgement. "Perhaps you should ask what will happen if you _don't_. I got you out of Azkaban without anyone noticing, I can put you back."

She snorted in disbelief. "The Aurors are probably scrambling around like the idiotic ants they are in a total panic that I escaped!"

"Not at all, my dear, they think you are sleeping in your cell."

"Oh, right, I believe that!"

"Kreacher."

"Kreacher comes when Master calls."

"Kreacher, tell the truth to Mrs. Lestrange, née Black, here. She's a Pure-blood."

Kreacher stood a bit taller at hearing that command.

"Have you been monitoring the Aurors and Azkaban as I ordered?"

"It bees hard, Master, but Kreacher sneaks into Ministry. Kreacher can only watch prison shore dock. Kreacher will slam oven door on hands later as punishment."

Harry let that last pass uncommented, the self-centred twit he was portraying Gilderoy as wouldn't notice what a house-elf did as long as it didn't directly effect himself.

"Kreacher, does anyone suspect Mrs. Lestrange, née Black, is not in Azkaban?"

"No Master. The onlys ones who knows are Master, Kreacher, and Honourable Mrs. Lestrange, née Black."

She said, staring intently at Gilderoy, "How?"

He snickered, "I left a golem in your place."

Her eyes grew wide.

"So, you see, it would be a simple matter to just switch you back if I wanted."

She scowled. He could feel her anger at her predicament rising.

"But, to answer your question, I don't care _what_ you do. With a couple of simple tricks, I can change your appearance and no one will suspect you are the dangerous and deadly Bellatrix Lestrange. You can vanish into the Wizarding world. I'll even give you a thousand galleons to hold you over until you are settled and can access you vault as needed."

Half to herself, still scowling and staring at Gilderoy's hands, she said, "I can hunt for my Lord, I can _feel_ him! I know he's out there!" She considered her options for a while before looking up to meet his eyes. "I'll do it."

Harry/Gilderoy could feel her intent. She planned to trick him, and escape at the first opportunity. He said, "Excellent!" He pulled out his wand with one hand as he pulled a second wand out of his pocket with the other. "As you can feel, there are protection enchantments around this suite — anti-portkey, anti-disapparation, and special intent-based ones that block any magic intended to cause harm."

He tossed the extra wand to her. "Go ahead, cast a curse at me."

He could decipher her thoughts from her emotions. Shock at recognizing the wand, twelve and a half inch walnut with dragon heartstring core. It was like her familiar wand, but not quite. How had he acquired an almost exact duplicate?

He grinned at her reaction, "It wasn't as difficult as you imagine. It's just different enough, though, to get people to write it off as mere coincidence. Now, curse me!"

Uncertainty, distrust, curiosity. If the protective enchantments didn't exist, would he take such a chance as he had requested?

"Go ahead," he goaded. "You know you want to, if only to satisfy your curiosity. If you don't you'll always wonder, what would have happened . . . ."

Far faster than he expected her hand came up and a reddish light shot from her wand. Only to fade to nothing mere inches from the wand-tip. She stared at the wand, somewhat surprised that the protective enchantments indeed had blocked the _reducto_. In truth, they hadn't. The protective enchantments simply drained any spell over a certain strength, taking their power for its own. Low-powered hexes and healing spells would pass through unnoticed.

He smiled broadly, "Excellent!" He walked over to her and held out his wand. She tentatively held hers out to him.

"Do you swear on your life and your magic that your magic shall prevent your attacking me or _any_ in my Houses . . . ." That would prevent her from duelling Harry or Sirius in the future.

Her eyebrows shot up in surprise that he held claim to more than one House.

". . . unless you are mildly pranking someone"

That garnered another surprised look. Hey, he didn't want her to die if she got peeved at him or Sirius and sent him a harmless stinging hex for pranking her!

"That your magic shall prevent you from betraying me or _any_ in my Houses to others. That you shall assist me in retrieving the Hufflepuff Cup and not keep it for yourself. That you will obey all my commands while we are actively involved in getting the cup and returning here to my base of operation, and for one month afterward." At each condition, a magical glow wrapped around their wands and hands.

"In return, I promise my magic will not let me surrender you to the authorities for any crimes you have committed or have been accused of committing in the past or for any you may commit while carrying out my instructions now and in the future. That it will not let me return you to Azkaban, nor any other prison or official holding facility, for those crimes after we have retrieved the Hufflepuff Cup. Any crimes you commit without my orders are your responsibility, as is the any punishment you might receive or be assigned for crimes committed after we retrieve and return here with the cup. On my life and my magic I will assist you in creating a new physical identity so you may pass in the Wizarding World without being recognized as Bellatrix Lestrange, née Black, unless you reveal that information to others yourself. That I will provide financial assistance in the amount of one thousand galleons after we retrieve the Cup. That I will allow you to leave this base, should you decide to do so, on your own at any time one month after we complete the retrieval of the Hufflepuff Cup. That you may stay here, if you so chose, under the protection of my Houses for as long as you like. That I will do my best to protect you as long as you are under my protection."

"So Mote it Be."

After several seconds to think through what she was pledging, she said, "So Mote it be." She was disgruntled at being unable to leave immediately to start her search, but she would be patient.

The glowing bands brightened, then sank into their hands.

She hadn't noticed the loopholes to his advantage in the oath.

"Excellent! Now, much as I would like to start immediately, you are in no condition for any strenuous activities. For the next few weeks, you shall stay here and recover from your horrid experience in Azkaban. Kreacher will provide nutritious meals with an eye towards rebuilding your body. I will acquire potions to help repair any mental or physical damage you may have suffered."

She nodded her understanding.

"Next week I shall open up a training room for you so you can get back into the regular use of your magic without undo strain."

"To help bring you up to speed on current events, Kreacher will bring you selected _Daily Prophet_ issues from the last year." A tremendous stack of papers appeared in one corner of the room. "If you wish to contact me, Kreacher can relay your requests.

"Also, once we have acquired Hufflepuff's Cup I will acquaint you with my Houses and their significant members so that you don't accidentally violate your oath. In the meantime, I bid you adieu!" He turned and left the room.

(◎_⊙)

It had been six weeks since he visited with the Headmaster and it was time to check in again. Dumbledore had yet to mention if he had made any progress regarding the horcruxes, either in figuring out possible items or where they might be hidden. Harry/Gilderoy was more than a little worried about that. Had he determined that the ring was the next logical item? Had the old bastard gone after the ring himself? If not, then it was time for Harry to fetch it. He didn't dare wait any longer. He had to get rid of it before he and Bella went after Hufflepuff's Cup.

Gilderoy thought he looked rather dashing as he strode through the corridors of the school just after Monday's dinner, his golden locks framing his face perfectly. He wore an azure robe set today that brought out the blue in his eyes. He looked every inch an important and powerful Wizard as his cloak billowed dramatically behind him. The Witches almost swooned as he went by them, he could practically see the stars in their eyes.

There should be just enough time before his first afternoon class started to get the answers he wanted.

Soon he was bounding up the escalator to the old fraud's office. Moments later, he burst in not bothering to knock, and caught Dumbledore off guard. "Albus," he called out cheerily.

The Headmaster was just pulling his right sleeve down to hide his hand.

Harry went ballistic at the sight of the withering curse afflicting the Wizard's hand.

" _Expelliarmus!_ " he screamed, catching the Headmaster completely by surprise. The spell smashed him against the wall behind his desk as the wand in his pocket leapt into Harry's hand. The moment he grabbed it with his right hand he knew it was the Death Stick. Damnit! Now he _owned_ one-third of the Deathly Hallows, two-thirds if magic thought he co-owned Harry's Invisibility Cloak.

"You stupid, pompous, arrogant, ignorant, venal old fool!" Harry raged at the Wizard, still sitting on the floor amid the wreckage of his desk's chair, dazedly staring up at him. "Are you completely off your trolley?" Harry loomed over the desk glaring at the stunned Wizard. "You're going to die because you are too _stupid_ to ask for the help I was willingly giving you. I can't believe you are so self-centred as to believe you can do no wrong, and are immortal and can't die! Well, now you know you're wrong, don't you! You aren't immortal. You aren't infallible. And you aren't the smartest Wizard alive, you aren't even the cleverest Wizard alive! No matter your delusions of grandeur, your conceit has _killed_ you!

"And for what? A stupid cursed ring! That you _knew_ was cursed! Tell me _was it worth it_? Trading all your plans, all your schemes, the fate of the entire Wizarding World, just so you could talk with your sister for five minutes?" The Wizards stared up at him, shocked. " _WELL, WAS IT?_ " Harry screamed.

The Old Wizard blinked and slowly shook his head.

"If _anything_ proves you are incapable of being in charge, this does it! Give me that bedamned thing before you cause any more trouble!" Harry held out his hand as Dumbledore pulled his right hand closer to his body in reflex.

"Give it to me or I'll _accio_ it, and your finger, right off your hand!"

Dumbledore stared up at the irate Wizard. He had never suspected that Lockhart had such power, his magic glaring brightly around him and his eyes glowing a menacing bright green. With his magic battling the curse, the old Wizard knew he could not win a battle against the younger Wizard, especially without the Death Stick.

But the ring!

He saw Lockhart pointing the Death Stick at him and he knew he had lost already. Even at his most powerful, he couldn't defeat the younger Wizard as long as the other held the undefeatable Deathly Hallows wand in his hand ready to use. Slowly, mournfully, he pulled the ring off his hand. It had had no sooner cleared the end of his fingernail when it jerked out of his hands and flew to the other Wizard.

The blonde-haired Wizard stared at the ring a moment, "Well, at least you got rid of the horcrux. Thank god for small favours, at least I don't have to do that as well." Almost as an afterthought, he casted, " _Incarcerus_ ," and ropes appeared wrapping themselves around the old Headmaster. A quick _stupify_ followed. He didn't want any sneak attacks while he was distracted.

(-_-)

 ** _Author's Note:_** _For those interested in those sort of things, I have uploaded to my DeviantArt account (search for tkepner on that website) the floor plans and colour schemes mentioned for 12 Grimmauld Place in this chapter._


	23. Chapter 23 No More Pencils, No More Book

**23\. No More Pencils, No More Books**

"Fawkes!" called out Harry. "I need your help, please. The safety of the school is at risk." He waited a beat, then called again, "Fawkes!" Just when he was about to conclude the bird wasn't coming a flash of flames burst into the room and the Phoenix glided to his perch.

Harry smiled broadly, genuinely happy to see the bird. He walked over and started petting Fawkes head. "I am so sorry to disturb you, but that stupid senile flipping idiot of an old Wizard over there has killed himself, although he shan't die for months, and now we must make arrangements for his replacement."

The Phoenix turned his head to look at the Headmaster and then trilled a short melancholy tune.

Harry pulled a quill and parchment out of his pocket and wrote something quickly. "Would you be so kind as to take this to Professor McGonagall and bring her back, please?"

The bird turned and stared at him.

He hung his head, "Yeah, I know, you're not a bleeding mail-owl." He looked back up, "But a mail-owl can't bring the fine professor back, now can he? Please?" He held the parchment up to the bird. "We need to make sure someone is watching this old duffing Wizard so he doesn't kill everyone in the school by doing something incredibly stupid, for the Greater Good, of course." He stared angrily at the unconscious Wizard

The phoenix huffed, then grabbed the parchment and vanished in a burst of flames.

Ten seconds later, he returned with a frantic Professor McGonagall holding to his tail feathers.

"Gil, what's wrong?" she called out and then gasped as she saw the bound Headmaster lying in the ruins of his chair.

Harry gritted his teeth as his anger returned in full force. He tried to explain calmly. "This gormless arsehole ignored all notions of common sense and decided to go after a deeply cursed _and Dark_ item without backup and has succeeded in killing himself. _Unfortunately_ ," he gave the Wizard a scathing look, "it wasn't immediate, so we're stuck with the barmy bastard for another nine months."

She gasped again, eyes wide open, one hand over her mouth in shock.

"And that was _after_ I told him to tell me what was going on and to take me with him before he did anything stupid." Gilderoy couldn't resist adding sarcastically, "But he is the _Great-Infallible-and-Never-Makes-Mistakes-Dumbledore!_ " He shook his head angrily, "So he blundered on ahead and look where it got him! If he had asked me, Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defence League, five-time winner of _Witch Weekly's_ Most-Charming-Smile Award, Hogwarts beloved Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor, and Slayer of Basilisks to accompany him this wouldn't have happened! I have safely disposed of three of those dangerous Dark items, but, hey, what do I know that he doesn't? Arsehole!"

Gilderoy growled crossly. "So he _stupidly_ picked up a cursed item that had a powerful compulsion charm on it — gee, he's searching for a cursed Dark Artefact, who would have expected it to have a Dark Curse on it? — and now he has the Withering Curse, as you can see from looking at his hand."

Harry did a dramatic face-palm and pulled his hand down to his neck. "I expect that he shan't last more than nine months, even with the special potions I'm sure that Professor Snape is supplying him." He paused and looked at the Witch to see how she was reacting, her emotions were in too much turmoil to give him a consistent reading.

"This terrible lack of common sense is just part of a pattern of ignoring the safety of the students and the quality of their education in the asinine pursuit of some phantom 'Greater Good' that he thinks takes precedence over his duties as Headmaster."

Harry turned and casted a quick _ennervate_ on the Headmaster, followed by a silencing spell.

"The _only_ responsibility he has as Headmaster is to provide a quality education and to keep the students safe. No Headmaster should put the political concerns of the Wizarding World ahead of his students. His actions show he simply doesn't care about the students, their safety, or the school itself — based on what happened last year, and with Hagrid fifty years ago, I wonder if he ever did — therefore he is lacking in any aptitude to be Headmaster of this facility."

Harry took a deep breath and tried to calm down. "The reason I asked you to come here, Professor McGonagall, is that I have to act pre-emptively. This _nitwit_ ," he pointed dismissively at the Headmaster, "would not tell anyone of the seriousness of his affliction until the day he croaked, causing all sorts of panic and upset for no reason. And," he said sighing heavily, "if I leave it to the Board of Governors the Headmaster's position will become another political quaffle and it will sit empty for months on end." He ignored the red-faced older Wizard, whether red from embarrassment or rage, he didn't care.

He looked up her, "I am invoking my rights as Lord Slytherin," he held up his hand allowing the ring to become visible and showed it to the other two. "And my rights as Lord Gryffindor." Professor McGonagall already knew because she was the proxy vote on the Wizenmaggots for Gryffindor. ". . . to appoint you, Professor McGonagall, as Headmistress effective the day after the current term ends. The Board of Governors will continue to handle the rest of the school's affairs as usual. So Mote it Be."

There was a flash of light in the office.

He turned to the Headmaster, _finiting_ the _incarcerus_ , "I expect you to teach her what she _needs_ to know about actually controlling the protective enchantments and other aspects of Hogwarts that she has not yet experienced in her role as Depute, as well as anything else you know or suspect about the Castle and its environs. _Is that clear_?"

The old Wizard had felt control of the protective enchantments shift as they accommodated Professor McGonagall's new status as Headmistress-in-training. He could do nothing to the protective enchantments without her permission, now, limiting him to only the most basic levels of control. Any warning they sent, she would sense as well. He nodded slowly, wondering how things had spiralled so _far_ out of his control simply because he had hired a fraud with the intent of exposing him to the public.

"I expect the two of you to come up with an announcement, Albus, _and soon_ , that you are retiring to pursue other interests. Preferably this week." He turned to the Witch. "You may choose your replacement Depute from the staff or from farther afield, as you desire. For the coming year you also will need to choose a replacement for yourself as Transfiguration Professor as well as for the D.A.D.A. Professor. I suggest you ask Remus Lupin if he would like to take a turn as the D.A.D.A. Professor. He is a Werewolf, as you know, but I feel he is the best qualified to follow me when I leave next month." He paused and thought.

"You might also see about replacing Professor Binns, he doesn't even mention anything that has happened since the 1900's. And the Wizarding War of the later 1970's is quite important. Similarly, Professor Trelawney's class should be a one-year elective. Students who show actual _talent_ in divination may take advanced classes if they desire. The Muggle-studies professor is a joke, the Muggle-born tell me he is hopelessly out of date and doesn't even know what a computer is or that the Muggles have put men on the moon, repeatedly, and are now considering a run at Mars. I suggest a Muggle-born graduate be hired with the understanding that every summer vacation they will spend it with their Muggle family reacquainting themselves with the advances Muggles have made since the previous summer, at full pay." He stood thinking a bit more.

"We need a Wizard-studies class, mandatory for all Half-blood and Muggle-born students. Pure-bloods may attend if they want. I suggest you contact Andromeda Tonks about the position, she is a House Black daughter and was rigorously trained in the old ways by her parents. If she turns it down, then maybe Madam Dowager Longbottom would agree to share her expertise."

Professor McGonagall still seemed in shock over what had happened.

"Well," Harry said, finally, "I think that's it. I'll leave you two to it." With a negligent wave of his wand he released the silencing spell. And while the wily old Wizard could do wandless magic, he was limited in magic to what amounted to mere palour tricks until he dug out his old wand.

 _Blast it all!_ he thought as he stalked out into the corridor. Now he had two of the Deathly Hallows. He bloody well hoped that Harry the student didn't count as _him_ having the Invisibility Cloak — he had only _borrowed_ the cloak that one time, and then promptly returned it. He did _NOT_ want to be the Master of Death again. Once was enough, thank you very much.

 _Bollocks!_ What a cock up. It was going to take some serious work to get this sorted. He had truly expected Dumbledore ask for his help when going after the ring. That the fool had thrown away his life and all his plans was still a great shock. Just thinking about the stupidity involved in Dumbledore's decision made his blood boil.

He stormed down the corridors to his office, students ducking for cover as they stared at him and the visible glow of magic swirling around him. They had never seen him angry and scowling before — and more than just a few were terrified at the thought of what could make the perennially cheerful and pleasant Professor _THAT_ angry.

Next year was a pass, what with Sirius already being out of Azkaban, legally. The Tri-Wizard, though, was an issue. _BOLLOCKS!_ He had forgotten about Barty Crouch, both of them.

(⊙_⊙)

"Good afternoon Madam Bones," Harry/Gilderoy said, his smile as dazzling as ever. His last class had ended at four, giving him sufficient time to visit his second favourite law enforcement official — Tonks, of course, was first. "I was hoping I would find you in."

The Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement met him halfway. "I'm always in for you, Lord Lockhart-Black," she said warmly. They shook hands before seating themselves on the couch and comfy chair at one end of the office. She waved her wand over the end table and a tea set appeared. "Tea?"

Gilderoy sat back, pleased, sipping at his steaming tea. This was what he had been trying for all his life, important people recognizing him as one of their own. No more getting the brush-off because he was a powerless unknown.

He knew she suspected he had more than just the two Lordships. His little stunt last Saturday wouldn't fool the more astute political experts. The Wizengamot had not seen Gaunt, Slytherin, or Gryffindor for decades, that all should appear with him as Lord Black implied more than just a casual connection between them. Especially when two of the three were professors from Hogwarts, as he was.

Speaking of which, the two Witches in question had been most appreciative of his appointing them as proxies. Sinistra had even hinted at being interested in making the arrangement permanent as Lady Slytherin — she was, after all, only a year or two younger than himself. With all of her classes being at night, she wouldn't have any conflicts with attending regular Wizengamot sessions she had informed him. Professor McGonagall had no interest in becoming Lady Gryffindor, but she happily would hold the proxy until he had found a full-time replacement — which was a good thing as Gilderoy knew he would never talk Harry the student into officially marrying the stern professor to bestow the title upon her! In the meantime, Harry Potter's secrets were safe.

But while Madam Bones might suspect he had those Lordships, that's all they were, suspicions.

Well, on to business. "Things have been happening at Hogwarts that you should know, Madam Bones," he started. She straightened in her chair. "But before I reveal those to you, may I set a few protective enchantments?"

"My office is regularly checked for listening spells, my Lord," she said, somewhat offended that he thought her lax in her security.

"I'm sure you have one of the Unspeakables do that chore, however, one has to wonder, who checks the Unspeakables? As I recall, one of them was a Death Eater in the last war."

She frowned, but made a gesture to go ahead.

He gave her a broad smile and stood. The spell he cast was complex and surrounded the two of them with a visible glow — only to the participants — until the caster dismissed it. An American Indian Wizard had taught it to him in the waning days of the war when operational security was an obsession.

"There, anything we say cannot be understood by anyone other than us. Simply removing listening spells, you know, doesn't prevent someone from inserting a physical probe into the room, nor sneaking in as a bug animagus." He pulled out a parchment from his robes and gave it to her. "The spell I just used and its parameters," he said by way of explanation. "Please keep it as a D.M.L.E. secret."

She took the parchment, nodding her agreement.

He sat again. "As you know, from the memories you've seen from Mr. Potter, Voldewhore is a wraith currently trying to invest himself into a living body. He has, as yet, not found another follower to possess, but he is trying."

"I'm sure your Unspeakables have given you clues on how he has managed to escape death — I will confirm it for you, he is using horcruxes, Soul Anchors, to stay on this plane even though he has died and is not a ghost or poltergeist. And that is horcruxes, plural, as in more than one."

"Merlin," she whispered, nodding. "We had suspected a horcrux, but several?" She shuddered. "The Unspeakables didn't think he had more than one. More than one would drive the Wizard insane, they said."

"He made five."

"Five?" she said weakly, blinking.

"Quite so. I believe he intended, eleven years ago, to use Harry Potter's death to create his sixth and last one. Should he return to life, I'm sure the first thing he will do is create that last horcrux.

"So far I have destroyed three: his diary from when he was a Hogwarts student, Slytherin's Locket, and Ravenclaw's Diadem. That's how I discovered he was using horcruxes, you see. When I first found Ravenclaw's Diadem the magic on it was so foul it was almost visible. I quickly determined what it was and destroyed the Soul that was stored in it while preserving the original enchantments. It really wasn't that difficult, I am Gilderoy Lockhart, after all." He grinned widely as she flinched slightly, expecting his long-winded self-aggrandizing list of titles to come flying forth. "When I found his diary, well, that confirmed he had made more than one. Then I found Slytherin's Locket, also infested. Now it was a matter of establishing how many he had made!

"Notice the proclivity for items of importance? I predict that Hufflepuff's Cup is also a horcrux." Gilderoy then explained his conversation with Dumbledore, in excruciating detail. "So, it was either five or seven soul splits."

"Unfortunately, and the reason I am revealing this to you now, is that Headmaster Dumbledore found and destroyed a fourth horcrux — and it wasn't Hufflepuff's Cup. That fourth Horcrux, plus the one I feel wandering around Hogwarts, which is probably Hufflepuff's Cup, totals five. When you add Voldewhore, that makes six, which means he was trying for the magic number seven.

"Anyway, stupidly, the barmy idiot Headmaster went after that fourth horcrux without me, Gilderoy Lockhart, as backup. After all, I've only found and safely destroyed three Soul Anchors without any injury whatsoever, so why should he have need of my expertise?" He added, sarcastically, "He is, naturally, the Great Albus Dumbledore, the Wizard who knows everything, never makes mistakes, and never over estimates his own intelligence and capabilities."

He shook his head ruefully, "He has contracted a fatal Withering Curse. He will be lucky to make it to Christmas, and will definitely be dead by this time next year. Which is why I am here."

"Dying?" Madam Bones said, shocked that such a powerful Wizard was laid low.

"Yes. Lords Slytherin and Gryffindor have appointed Professor McGonagall as Headmistress, effective after the end of this year's term. Albus will be showing her what she needs to know regarding that position over the summer. Fortunately, she was Depute and is well versed with most of the responsibilities.

"They will be making a joint announcement later this week that Albus is retiring to pursue other interests and that she is assuming his position as Headmistress. I wanted _you_ to know the _real_ reason and to be prepared for his eventual death."

She sat back in her chair, mulling over everything he had told her. He sat quietly drinking tea, and going for a refill while she thought. Finally, she looked up. "Thank you, my Lord. Both bits of news are disturbing."

He smiled contentedly. "Please keep the information regarding the horcruxes to yourself. I fear that the Unspeakables might want to recover the remaining one for study rather than destroy it to rid us forever of Lord Voldewhore."

He stood and rubbed his hands together. "This will make the biggest bestseller in history when I finally publish the full story of my quest to destroy the Dark Lord Riddle!" He sighed, "But that shan't be for a few years. Even after dealing with the horcruxes we will have to deal with the wraith itself. I fear that with the demise of Albus the populace will be disheartened should the Dark Idiot succeed in returning in two years."

She stood, slowly, as he headed for the door. He had his hand on the door when he suddenly turned. "Ah! I almost forgot!"

She looked up at him, dragged from her thoughts. She quirked an eyebrow.

"I was perusing the records at Azkaban when I was researching Sirius Black's incarceration. In doing so, I noticed that shortly before Barty Crouch, Junior, died, his mother and father visited him. His mother was dying and wanted to see her son one last time. Within a week, she died and Mr. Crouch buried his wife in a private ceremony.

"Barty Crouch, Junior, while not in great health, was at least as healthy as any other inmate, but he died within five days of their visit. How _odd_ that mother and child should die so soon together, and just after their last meeting.

"My house-elf tells me that Winky, the Crouch family house-elf, is caring for an invalid that never leaves his room. Odd, isn't it, that a man with no living relatives has his house-elf caring for a sick relative in what used to be his son's room? Is it beyond the realm of possibility that the use of polyjuice allowed Mrs. Crouch to replace her son in Azkaban and that the 'private' burial was a sham?"

He smiled at her brilliantly. "Well, I'm not one to tell another how to run their department, but perhaps you should check and see if there is a body in Mrs. Crouch's grave. And if so, is it really Mrs. Crouch?"

He pulled out his wand and cancelled his privacy spell. "Good day to you, Madam," he said leaving the office with a jaunty stride. The Witch stared at him, completely flummoxed by his seemingly capricious parting comments that turned her world on its side. Again.

(◎_⊙)

The Wizarding World had taken Dumbledore's "retirement" quite calmly with many "thanks for a job well done" letters to the editor and editorials. There were also a few congratulatory letters and editorials addressed to Headmistress McGonagall. And the search was on for replacement Transfiguration and D.A.D.A. professors. In her interview in _The Daily Prophet_ she mentioned her intention to introduce a few changes to the school — most, Harry/Gilderoy noticed, were his suggestions from that afternoon in the Headmaster's Office.

Before Harry/Gilderoy knew it, it was June, and he was running out of time to retrieve Hufflepuff's Cup. Wednesday evening, after supper, he headed to Grimmauld Place.

Bella was looking good. Two weeks of daily health potions had re-established her physically — once more she was a beautiful woman who commanded the attention of any males who might see her. That, of course, presented a problem. It wouldn't do for someone to "see" Bellatrix Lestrange after she had been declared dead in Azkaban!

Yesterday evening, he had introduced the Pureblood to something most Half- and Pure-blood Wizards and Witches had no idea existed — hair dyes. Bella was now a blond with shoulder-length wavy hair. Even her eyebrows were blonde — most women forget to do that, giving away that they aren't natural blondes. Contacts had changed her eyes to blue — a mild pain-relieving spell had quickly acclimated her to their presence. She could wear them for a week before she would have to remove them. No one seeing her would ever suspect she was a daughter of House Black. And a Wizard couldn't accidentally, or on purpose, terminate the Muggle disguise methods with a _finite_ spell. Not even the Goblin's Thief's Falls would disclose the disguise.

Her practice with her new wand had paid off, she was as good with the new one as she had ever been with her old one.

"Okay, Bell," — after much discussion, and a few hexes both ways, they had decided that Bell was an acceptable derivative of Bellatrix. It wouldn't immediately trip people to the fact that her original name was Bellatrix and that she would instinctively respond to instead of ignoring the caller. If anyone asked specifically, her full name was Belladonna. — "I'm ready."

At that declaration they disapparated from the sitting room at Grimmauld Place — not that she recognized it after all his changes — and reappeared in front of an empty field. The floo connection to the Lestrange Manor would not admit anyone not already keyed into the protective enchantments. Of course, the Ministry also had disconnected the Lestrange floo from the network for non-use after years of idleness.

She held onto his arm, as if they were a couple, and walked towards what appeared to be a waist high stone wall. Like Platform Nine-and-three-quarters, they walked straight through it and a carriage-wide path appeared before them leading to a tall privacy wall interrupted by a closed gate. Bell walked up to the gate and placed her hand on the Lestrange crest centred on it. The gates swung open. A short five-minute walk later and they were standing on the porch. As she had instructed him, he did not let go of her arm. If he did, the protective enchantments and traps built into the grounds and porch would activate and immediately attack him as an intruder.

Moments later, they were inside. She turned to him. "All right, now what does it look like, you've avoided mentioning it so far." She stared at him suspiciously.

He smiled, showing off his brilliant and perfect smile. "Well, it's a golden cup with two handles." He held his hands up as if he were about to indicate its size, "It's about _stupefy_!"

With his hand only inches from her, she had no time to react and collapsed to the floor. A nearby portrait said, "How dare you!" His wand now in his hand, he swung it while casting a special version of the _incendio_ spell targeted at portraits. He had learned that lesson in the War — leave no evidence. An instant later, every portrait in sight was nothing more than ashes drifting to the floor, the occupants having had no time to flee.

"Kreacher! Dobby!"

Twin POPs! answered his call.

"Take everything of value, including fixtures. Leave only the structure itself: walls, floors, ceilings, doors, windows, and so forth. Destroy all the portraits before you enter any room. Find every nook and cranny. Look for hidden rooms and compartments. Use your magic to look for dangerous spells so you don't get hurt. Put everything in the new vault I opened at Gringotts, you have the key. Shrink what you can and make as few trips as possible. Put Dark Artefacts and cursed items in the appropriate storage area in the vault. If you find any Goblin items, cursed or not, and bring them to me. And find me the Lestrange Vault key. If there is anything you think I should see, come get me."

Both house-elves stood silent for a moment, looking around, before Dobby sadly said, "Wes can't. We's has no permission from Lords or Ladies."

"Ah." He should have expected that. He turned to Bell and floated her to a nearby chair, " _Ennervate. Confundo_. _Imperio_. Give these two house-elves permission to do anything they need to do in the Lestrange House and Vault."

Seconds later the two house-elves blurred into action. " _Obliviate!_ _Stupify_ ," he said to Bell.

It was a rather boring wait. Occasionally, Kreacher or Dobby would appear and hand a Goblin blade or piece of jewellery to Harry. He shrunk each item and placed it in his pockets. Kreacher was the one who found the vault key and brought it to Harry.

Finally, Dobby declared, "We's done."

"Excellent! Return home, take a break and make sure you eat. Rest if you need it."

Harry/Gilderoy floated Bell to the front door, opened it, and leant her against it. " _Ennervate. Confundo,_ " he said quietly. "Well," he continued in a conversational tone, "It took a while, but we found it." He held up a rather elegant looking golden cup.

She blinked at it blearily. It reminded her of the Cup given to her by her Dark Lord, but this cup was much larger and more ornate, with a series of small emeralds decorating the base. She looked back at him, her eyes narrowed. She had fulfilled her part of the bargain, now it was his turn.

Knowing what she was thinking, he took her arm and they walked back down to the gates. Friday night would be a full moon, so there was more than sufficient light tonight for them to see path even though it was almost midnight. She never looked back to notice the Entry Hall was bare before the door closed behind them. Neither did she notice the lack of curtains at the windows. As far as she knew, the Manor was as it had been when they arrived.

"Never fear, Bell. I will keep my part of the bargain. After a month has passed, I will not stop you from leaving my Manor. You know how to disguise yourself without magic, you have a new wand, and, when you leave, you will have a purse with a thousand galleons in it. You can return here to plan your next moves."

Their trip back to Grimmauld Place was as quick as their leaving. He had adjusted the protective enchantments to allow them to return directly to the sitting-room, so Bell never realized she was returning home to Twelve Grimmauld Place and not a non-descript flat somewhere in London.

Once they were back in her suite, which a mild _confundo_ ensured that she thought was on the second floor and not _under_ the kitchen, Harry bade the Witch good night. He then hit her with another _imperio_ and handed her a potion bottle of the Draught of Sleeping Death with the orders to drink it. That removed her from being a possible problem in the short term.

"Kreacher!"

"Kreacher is here, Master Black."

"Take good care of our little Bell, here."

"Kreacher will take care of Pureblood daughter of House Black."

"Excellent!"

Harry headed back upstairs.

"Dobby!" he called from the kitchen.

"Dobby is here, Master Lockhart.

"Excellent! Can you still access the Lestrange Manor?"

Dobby Popped away and returned almost immediately. He was bouncing on his heels in happiness. "Yes, Master Lockhart, yes! Dobby's can still go to wicked Wizard's Manor!"

"Excellent!" He looked down on the diminutive house-elf. "Dobby," he said gravely, "the Lestrange brothers are as evil and cruel to house-elves as your previous master. They would kill Harry Potter without pause if they could."

Dobby's face grew dark in anger and he opened and closed his hands repeatedly.

"So, I want you to burn the place to the ground. If there are any other buildings there on their property, loot them as you did the Manor itself, and then burn them. If they are occupied, come back and we'll do something different."

Dobby declared angrily, "Dobby does as Master Lockhart says!"

He POPed away again.

Harry/Gilderoy rubbed his hands together happily. On Saturday, he would visit Gringotts and loot the Lestrange Vault after retrieving Hufflepuff's Cup. Dobby could move everything without touching anything, thus escaping the burning and duplication charms Bellatrix had set on everything. Then Gilderoy could pay the Goblins to remove the curses on everything. That meant three major sources of Death Eater funds — Houses Malfoy, Black, and Lestrange — were forever gone.

And Gilderoy was that much richer.

(⊙_◎)

"Good day, Ragnurk!" Gilderoy called out cheerily as he entered his account manager's office lounge. The Goblin grunted, clearly unimpressed with the Wizards greeting.

The blonde-haired dandy pulled a cloth bag from his pocket, opened it, and proceeded to set out, one at a time, the Goblin-made items he had "liberated" from the Lestrange Manor. "These," he said jauntily, "Rightfully belong to your people, I believe." He stepped back and put his hands dashingly on his hips, awaiting the Goblin's reaction.

Ragnurk stared at the assorted knives, bracelets, earrings, and necklaces. He carefully picked up each one, inspected it, smelled it, licked it, and placed it back on the desk. He leaned back in his chair and stared at Gilderoy. "Why?"

Harry/Gilderoy pretended to be puzzled, "Because they are yours? I know that Wizards only rent Goblin made items with the understanding that when the renter dies the items are to be returned. I found these and know that the current owners are not the renters, so I thought to return them." He sighed, and made as if to retrieve the items from the desk, "Well, if you don't want them I'm sure I can find a use for them."

Ragnurk lunged forward, "NO!"

Harry looked at him grinning. After a long moment, Ragnurk slowly smiled a generous showing of teeth that would intimidate most Wizards and Witches. He nodded. "The Goblin Nation thanks you for the return of these long lost items."

Harry/Gilderoy sat in the chair provided, and said, "It occurs to me that the House Black vaults probably contain a few such items as well. I would like you to initiate a search through the vaults for Goblin-made blades, armour, or jewellery and remove them. After all, as your largest Vault Holder it wouldn't do for me to abuse your trust by withholding things that properly belong to the Goblin Nation, now would it?"

Without taking his eyes off of Harry, Ragnurk opened a drawer in the desk beside them and pulled out a parchment and quill. He quickly wrote out an agreement. "Sign at the bottom giving us your permission as Lord of House Black to enter your vault and remove any Goblin-made blades, armour, or jewellery."

Harry smiled at the Goblin. "Certainly, as long as we both understand that that doesn't include galleons, sickles, knuts, or other items made by the Goblins for unrestricted use by Wizards, Witches, Muggle-born, Muggles, or other magical creatures."

Ragnurk gave him another enormous smile, added a line to the document, and then handed it to the Wizard.

Harry read the document, which did indeed have a clause exempting Wizard money and selected other items from the list of Goblin-made items for removal. He signed it with a flourish and gave it back to the Goblin. Ragnurk dropped it on the desk and snapped his fingers. The parchment disappeared. "We will begin the sweep immediately."

Harry nodded his understanding. "I'm sure he will agree, but I will have to check with Mr. Potter before authorizing such a sweep in the Potter Vaults."

"Now then, on to the next order of business. I opened a new Vault recently, _The Gilderoy Lockhart Investment Fund_ , here is the key." He brandished a golden key. "Unfortunately, the items I have moved into the vault have spells cast on them that I need broken. Please have some curse-breakers sweep through the vault and remove all dangerous enchantments they might find. I would also like you to check that vault for any Goblin-made items. And produce an inventory."

Two minutes later, those contracts were signed and on their way to the respective teams responsible for those things. Three minutes later, Gilderoy Lockhart was out of the bank and headed to Florean Fortescue's Ice-Cream Parlour for a reward to himself.

(◎_◎)

Finals were over and everyone was at the Leaving Feast. And once again, Lockhart had a trophy to present. Rita sat at the head of the Hufflepuff, and both Professor Sprout and her House were practically bouncing in their chairs in excitement. They knew this could mean only one thing! The Headmaster had a sour expression, as if he couldn't believe Lockhart had once more succeeded. Or maybe it was because he knew that the day after tomorrow was his last official day as Headmaster?

This time Gilderoy waited until after most students were working on their desserts before standing. "I have an announcement to make," he stated majestically, projecting his voice across the Hall. He walked over to Professor Sprout. "Professor Sprout, if you please," he waved an invitation to the herbologist to join him. She leapt to her feet. He held out his arm and conducted her to the front of the Headmaster's Table. The Witches at the Headmaster's Table, and almost all the students were all eagerly awaiting what new discovery their favourite Professor was about to unveil.

Gilderoy, resplendent in his mauve robe set, conjured a tray and placed something covered in cloth on it. He bent forward slightly as he offered the tray to Professor Sprout.

"Once again, I, Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defence League, five-time winner of _Witch Weekly's_ Most-Charming-Smile Award, Hogwarts' beloved Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor, and slayer of Basilisks, have recovered a priceless treasure long thought to be lost to Hogwarts and Wizardkind.

"It took much effort and long hours, but it is with great joy and pride that I present to you, Professor Sprout, Head of the Hufflepuff House here at Hogwarts, this long lost Founder's Artefact — Lady Hufflepuff's Cup!" He vanished the bag leaving the gleaming golden cup with a Badger design out for all to see. "It can now join its fellows, Ravenclaw's Diadem, Gryffindor's Sword, and Slytherin's Locket in the Founders' Display Case in the Entry Way. For the first time in a thousand years, all Four Founders Treasures are united at Hogwarts for all to see and admire!" With appropriate placards describing how the Great Wizard Gilderoy Lockhart was responsible for finding and returning them, naturally.

After a moment's surprise, wild applause flooded the Great Hall, punctuated periodically by Bozo's non-stop photography. Professor Sprout was grinning like a madwoman, and holding the tray up so that all could see the priceless treasure on it. Good thing he had put a sticking charm on the tray earlier!

It was, Harry/Gilderoy thought, a _magnificent_ way to end his year at Hogwarts.

Gilderoy had hit all his goals: the country revered him as an accomplished Wizard of considerable talent, second only to Dumbledore; he was the richest Wizard in the world, according to the Goblins; and Witches everywhere dreamed of being with him. He had an entire generation of young Wizards and Witches extolling his skills and talents. Based on a preliminary look at the OWL and NEWT test scores, he was without a doubt the best D.A.D.A. professor ever to teach at Hogwarts. In short, in England he was as famous as Harry Potter!

Harry had hit his goals, as well: the horcruxes, those that were available to him, had all been destroyed; he had significantly reduced Death Eater funding and eliminated a few of the "inner circle" members; every D.A.D.A. class was up to snuff with the upper years all caught up and the lower years slightly advanced. As bonus, he had unmangled Gilderoy's Homorphus Reparifarge werewolf charm and named it after himself, of course, and delivered the working spell to the ministry. He had also taught it to all the students — now any werewolf could be returned to human immediately after his or her change. It wasn't a cure, that was next, but it was a step in the right direction.

And, most importantly, Harry Potter was safe and considered Hermione his girlfriend. Susan Bones and Hannah Abbott were vying for his second and third wife positions.

For the next year, Lockhart would be out of the lime-light as he sought to find and contain the Dark Lord for once and all. Except, maybe, for a book signing or two, Gilderoy whispered.


	24. Chapter 24 Schools Out For Summer

**24\. Schools Out For Summer**

"Mr. Potter!" called Lockhart.

Slowly pushing the trolley with his trunk and Hedwig's cage was Harry, with Hermione right beside him. The two were almost to the gateway that separated the Wizard World from the Muggle on Platform Nine-and-three-quarters at King's Cross Station. He was pleased to note that both were wearing the clothes he had purchased for them at Christmas, which meant that Harry looked quite spiffy and Hermione's clothes made her very pretty. Her skirt swayed rather nicely as her high-heels emphasized her gait. Hermione had apparently taken his advice on how to walk to heart. And she had transformed into a very attractive young Witch over this last year. Apparently she liked looking nice for Harry. And vice versa.

It helped that she had taken his "advice" to heart and now regularly flew with Harry — buying them new brooms to use instead of the school brooms had done a lot to calm her fears. The school brooms' erratic behaviour had been a major cause of her fear of flying.

Based on the looks she was getting from many at the station he wasn't the only one to notice the new and improved Hermione. He could hardly wait to see the look of shock on her father's face when he realized his "little girl" was growing up — and not just mentally!

Their other friends had said their goodbyes after locating their parents. The two weren't holding hands, unfortunately, as they had their hands full pushing the trolleys.

Well, that wouldn't do. No, not at all! Hadn't they remembered the shrinking charms on their new trunks?

Most of the people still on the platform were watching Gilderoy as he strode confidently over to the young couple. Rita, and _The Daily Prophe_ t, had done a splendid job of broadcasting yesterday's event and Lockhart had quite a few additional admirers. Even the Wizards were beginning to become his fans! Those in the school certainly were. Everywhere he went today people had murmured "Hello, Lord Lockhart-Slytherin," respect and admiration in their every word and gesture. People respected him, not just for his adventures in his books but also for his deeds at Hogwarts this year.

As he had waited for Harry to disembark, he had heard many complimentary things said about himself. "He's my D.A.D.A. professor and he fought and killed a Basilisk!" "He found all four Founder's Artefacts" "I was so worried about my OWL/D.A.D.A. until this year when. After his class the test just seemed so easy!" "He's the best D.A.D.A. professor I've ever had," he heard one Slytherin Seventh Year brag. His friend had loudly agreed.

All music to his ears. Gilderoy would have done a little happy-dance right there on the platform if Harry had let him. He was practically delirious with joy, leaving Harry to handle things today.

"Here," he said to the two students when they stopped in front of him. "Tap your wand right there and think, 'shrink,'" he pointed at the lock on Hermione's trunk. She watched, surprised as it shrank to card-pack size. He handed it to her. "There. Slip that into your pocket. When you get home, just tap it with your wand and think, 'full size,' and it will restore itself. As long as you don't do it where Muggles can see, the Ministry will never notice. And it won't trigger any magic detection spells, either. The wand is merely your identification as the owner." Harry quickly followed suit.

He picked up Hedwig's cage and brought it close. He set up a silencing spell around them and whispered to the bird, "Harry Potter lives at Twelve Grimmauld Place, London." He removed the spell and opened the cage. "There you go, Hedwig. You can meet us at home. I'm sure you'd rather _fly_ than be subjected to apparition, wouldn't you?" The owl stared at him a moment, hooted, then flew out the cage and rapidly disappeared overhead. He shrunk the cage and gave it to Harry.

He turned and made hand motions for them to accompany him, "Don't dawdle now, children, others await you." Hermione grabbed Harry's hand and they again started towards the platform's exit.

"Harry," he said confidentially to the young Wizard. "I know that the Headmaster told you that you had to return to the Dursleys. But as I told you before that isn't strictly true. You see, as long as you live with them, they do not have to fear Death Eaters, Voldewhore's followers, finding their home and killing them for being your relatives. That is the reason he sent you home last summer, to protect _them_. Now that you are twelve it only takes two weeks to renew the spell for another year." Hermione and Harry shot him a surprised glance.

"Now, then, you have a choice. Do you want to go home with me and stay at the House Black London residence, and meet your godfather? Or do you want to go stay with the Dursleys for two weeks and provide them with that protection for another year? At the end of the two weeks you would join me at the Black residence."

Harry looked conflicted. On the one hand, if he never saw the Dursleys again it would be too soon. On the other, could he really leave them defenceless?

"Tell you what, Harry, I'll put a listening charm on your trunk. If you want to leave, just call my name and tell me that. I'll be there as soon as I can. Does that sound good?"

Hesitantly, reluctantly, Harry nodded his agreement. By that time, they had passed through the barrier and Hermione had flung herself into her parent's arms, babbling non-stop. Harry looked around for his Uncle.

Uncle Vernon stood not far away. "Harry, my boy, it's good to see you," he said, glancing nervously at the tall blonde-haired Wizard standing beside the Boy-Who-Lived. That the rotten bastard remembered their last meeting so well delighted Gilderoy. "Come along, Harry. Your Aunt Petunia is waiting to see you at home."

Harry stared at his uncle, the thought clear in his mind, _Who was this man and what had they done with his uncle?_

"Do you have your trunk? What of your bird's cage?" the morbidly obese man asked solicitously.

Dazed at the civil tone in his uncle's voice, Harry absently patted his pocket. "Shrunken."

His uncle grimaced, but nodded understandingly, "Convenient, that." He paused a moment as if unsure what to say or do next.

Gilderoy stepped into the gap, "Ah, Mr. Dursley," he said softly. "So good to see you _again_. And in such _good_ health." The look he gave the man told him clearly that that condition could easily change if he wasn't careful. The dandy turned slightly towards the Grangers. "Oh, Miss Granger," he called.

She paused in mid-word and looked over to him. He waved her over. As she came closer, he said to Vernon, "I'd like you to meet Miss Hermione Granger, one of Mr. Potter's classmates and his best friend. And those two adults with her are her parents. Mr. Granger, Mrs. Granger, Miss Granger, this is Mr. Vernon Dursley. He's one of the top salesmen at Grunnings Drills, and is even in line for a Vice Presidency." That last bit had Dursley sweating as he wondered how the Wizard had learned something he had only that week found out himself. "The Grangers," he explained to Vernon, "are both professionals in London, Dentists."

"Harry lives with the Dursleys. Vernon's wife, Petunia, is Mr. Potter's aunt, his mother's sister," Gilderoy explained. "Harry is going to stay with the Dursleys for a couple of weeks, and then he'll be staying with his godfather for the rest of the summer."

Vernon looked surprised at hearing this, and then pleased as he realized he wasn't going to be stuck with the boy the entire summer. A few moments later Harry/Gilderoy watched as both groups left the building for their respective vehicles.

Hedwig was waiting in the entryway on the staircase balustrade when Gilderoy walked in at Grimmauld Place.

"Ah, Hedwig," he said gently rubbing the owl's head. "I can't tell you how _happy_ I am to see again. I envy Harry that he has you and I don't, I do miss you." The owl gave him an uncertain look, blinking. "Well," he continued, "You needn't worry about that. Harry is staying at Privet Drive for the next two weeks, and then he will be here."

The owl gave him an angry look.

"Now don't be that way, Hedwig, this was the easiest way to let you in on the secret. Besides, it will be another hour before he is home. In the meantime, could you deliver a message for me to Miss Granger? I'm sure she in turn will have a message for you to deliver to Harry. And he will have one for you to return to her!" The owl looked pleased at the prospect of some deliveries in the works.

.

 _Miss Granger,_

 _As I mentioned, Harry will be at Privet Drive for the next two weeks, then he will move to another address. I will advise you and your parents of the new address at the appropriate time. I expect you will spend a lot of time here with Harry during the day while your parents are at work when that happens. I am sure you both will enjoy playing with each other all summer. You can tell you parents to expect many invitations to come over for dinner, and to watch you demonstrate the magic you have learned._

 _That's right! Once you are_ here _you can perform magic without fear that the Ministry will detect what you are doing and cause problems. The house is_ extremely _well hidden from magical detection of most any kind. You can certainly help Harry improve how he handles his wand without fear of detection by adults._

 _Perhaps you should tell Harry about this, as well, and give him something to look forward to doing with you._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Gilderoy Lockhart,_

 _Order of Merlin, Third Class, blah, blah, blah, you know the rest._

.

And with any kind of luck, his surprise would be ready when St. Mungos released Sirius. And for the rest of the summer there were a couple of projects he needed to finish, including making sure Grimmauld Place survived Harry, Remus, Sirius, and Bell. But right now, he had a few things to finish downstairs.

(◎_⊙)

Bell's suite had become Harry/Gilderoy's potions workshop after his successful heist regarding the Lestranges. The Goblins had been extremely happy with him at the return of their "lost" items — apparently quite a few had been in the vaults — but it took a sharp eye to see so. Later he would see if he could turn that to his advantage in looting a few other Death Eater Vaults.

Much had happened in Bell's suite over the three weeks since then. He had spent every evening with Bell, not that she was awake to notice.

He was still somewhat amazed that his scheme had worked as well as it did. Ten points to Lockhart for excellent planning and execution!

The Witch had remained asleep on her bed — the Draught of the Living Dead was _such_ a useful potion! — curtained off from the rest of the room the entire time. Kreacher had done a marvellous job of watching her, checking periodically that her condition was unchanged and dusting her as needed during the day.

Gilderoy had spent the three days after the heist studying her left arm closely. Voldemort's brand, he had determined, was a form of the protean charm linking her to all the other Death Eaters, with a connection to her magical core. Plus, it linked directly to her nervous system. It provided a way for evil bastard to punish and communicate with his followers. He would always be able to find a follower anywhere. It was also a drain on the Witch's magic. A minute drain, but a drain. For his plan for the Witch to work, he had to get rid of the brand. So far, everything he had tried had failed.

He had stood to one side, the Deathly Hallows stone in hand, and spun it three times. After a pause, a ghostly image had appeared. "Why did you call me?" Merlin had said. Harry had smiled grimly, "I had little choice. I need the help of those much better versed than I am in this sort of thing." He had pointed at the Witch's arm and the brand on it. "I need to remove that brand, but no spell or potion I can find will do the trick. Examine it and advise me. It is related to the protean charm. A similar mark is created in the sky with the spell _morsmordre_."

The ghost had drifted over to the woman and studied her arm. "You cannot use magic alone. You must use a potion as well."

A long conversation had ensued and involved several more ghosts responding to Death's Ring. The result had Harry saying, "Fawkes? Can you help me?" He had tried several times and had been about to give up when the Phoenix had appeared in burst of flames and a trilling song. Harry grinned broadly, he had always enjoyed talking to the exotic creature. "Thank you so much for coming," he had said, reaching over and stroking the bird now perched on the back of his chair. "I am trying to remove the Death Eater tattoo from Bell, here." He had pointed at her arm. "The advice I've been given is a combination of magic and potion, but for the potion I need Phoenix Tears. I have some of your favourite treats, those lemon drops Dumbledore kept at his desk." He had pointed to a small bowl piled high with the sweets and sitting on the table beside Bell's bed.

He had managed to coax the brilliant bird into filling most of a tenth-ounce potion bottle — almost forty drops of the precious liquid. "Again, I thank you Fawkes," Harry had said. "I hope to accomplish much good with these tears." He had paused a moment thinking as the bird downed a few more of the lemon drops it loved. "Fawkes, if I need more tears to save others, would you be willing to help me? Perhaps as a remembrance to your friend Dumbledore?"

The bird had looked at him for a long moment, and then bobbed its head.

Harry had grinned. "Bless you, Fawkes. If this works, I shall tell _everyone_ that the Great Dumbledore discovered the method for removing the Death Eater mark. It will provide an extra incentive for Death Eater's to repent their evil ways. Perhaps Madam Bones can use it as leverage into getting spies into the Death Eater camp by promising her spies that she will remove the mark in exchange when the fight is over."

Fawkes had seemed to think that was a splendid idea. He flamed out after finishing off the entire bowl of treats. Harry had shaken his head. He had read Phoenix's lived off spices and morning dew, but still, an entire bowl at once? He would have to keep a barrel on hand. He had wondered if the bird might like cinnamon and curry, as well.

Next, Harry had carefully put three drops of Phoenix Tears into a small clear glass bowl on his potions table and mixed it with water purified three times and containing a dissolved freely-given Unicorn hair. He had dipped a quill into the mixture and had carefully drawn the rune of isolation and separation, _inguz_ , seven times in a ring around the Death Eater mark on Bell's arm. It hadn't been easy spacing the runes correctly as the clear mixture had been almost impossible to see and judge the distance to the next rune to draw. He couldn't use magic to help.

"Kreacher!" he had called out after finishing that portion of the "cure."

"Kreacher is here."

"Excellent. Take this brush, dip it into this mixture," he had handed the house-elf a small brush and the small bowl. "And carefully brush it all over this Death Eater mark. Continue until I say stop or you run out. If the mark lifts, as it should, coax it into the bowl using the brush. _No magic!_ "

Kreacher had nodded and started to brush the liquid on the tattoo as Harry/Gilderoy had started casting _tergeo_ _morsmordre_ repeatedly, pushing as much magic as he could into the incantation. The seven runes on her arm had glowed an ominous red. At first, nothing had happened, and then the tattoo had begun to bubble and steam. Even under the Draught of Living Death Bell's face twisted in pain. Slowly, though, the dark red mark on her arm had gently bubbled itself into the air. Finally, it had lifted entirely off her arm, although only by a scant millimetre or two. Kreacher had reacted quickly and a few seconds later that seemed hours long the bowl had held a puddle of red ink. Bell settled back into the deathly still aspect that the Draught gives the drinker, her arm bright pink where the tattoo had rested.

Harry had quickly picked up the other potion bottle on his table and had dripped a single drop of Basilisk poison into the glass bowl. The red ink had started to hiss and spit as smoke rose from it. Seconds later only a slightly smaller pinkish drop of Basilisk poison had remained. He had carefully decanted it into another potion bottle and labelled it. The Basilisk drop was useful until completely consumed.

"Thank you, Kreacher. Be proud, you have just saved the life of a Pureblood daughter of House Black. Take a break to celebrate your success before you return to doing whatever it was you were doing," he had told the old elf. Kreacher had had a big smile as he POPed away.

Harry had turned to his table, pulled out a fresh sheet of parchment and carefully recorded everything he and Kreacher had done, with a note at the bottom crediting Albus Dumbledore with the cure's creation and that the old Wizard hoped the cure would give those lost souls a second chance.

It was a small thing, really. And Harry didn't want to be known as the Wizard who figured out how to remove the Death Eater mark from the worst sort of people possible. While removing the mark was quite an achievement, allowing criminals to conceal their complicity in crimes was nothing to be proud of doing. They were, to his mind, still little more than pond scum. He would give the parchment to Madam Bones later, he had decided.

Since that momentous moment, he had spent every night with Bell. He had used a mild Pepper-up potion to bring the Witch to a sleeping state, then used his extensive _obliviate_ experience to carefully excise all memories related to the Wizard she called her Dark Lord. That that meant completely erasing everything she remembered since 1957 — thirty-six years — entailed taking things in stages, spending several hours labouring to remove a mere two years of memories per night. It had been quite exhausting work, struggling to disentangle past memories that had become associated with more recent memories. He didn't want to accidentally wipe out everything and leave her as a memoryless baby. Or leave holes she might discover later and unravel his work by researching her history.

When she finally woke from her sleep, she would be a child with no knowledge of Voldewhore and his Death Eaters. Her only memories would be of her father and mother. Excising her sisters from her memory while leaving what she had learned with them from her parents and tutors had been the hardest thing to do of all, and took the most time. He had had to substitute various house-elves, and occasionally her mother, in the blank spots occupied by the presence of her sisters. A _confundus_ embedded in her memories to prevent her from examining them too closely was an integral part of his treatment.

That she had been a bit of a loner compared to the other two had helped. That she would still be well steeped in Pure-blood nonsense was problematic, but Harry was sure that after a few years around Sirius and Harry she would lose those attitudes. He hoped. In any case, he would have fulfilled his oath to her. Especially after he had dosed her with the de-aging potion just the other night.

Normally, a de-aging potion erases memories that corresponded to being created after the apparent physical age given by the potion. Harry hadn't wanted to take any chances that those memories might be recoverable, so he had gone the extra step of _obliviating_ those memories as well. Between the two, the memories should well and truly be lost beyond recoverability.

And it seemed a suitable punishment for the criminal Bellatrix, erasing her from existence as if she had never existed in the first place. Not quite as final as throwing her through the veil in the Ministry, but Bellatrix as everyone remembered her had been thoroughly destroyed. It was up to the new Bell to live a life that redeemed her predecessor. With His and Sirius' help, that shouldn't be too difficult.

And no one would _ever_ suspect a six-year-old girl of being the infamous Bellatrix Lestrange née Black. If she wanted, she could walk out of Twelve Grimmauld Place without fear, or at least only the fear a sheltered child normally would feel when outside by herself for the first time. On her bedside table was a bottomless bag with a thousand galleons in it. He would create a trust-vault for her later. He would have no qualms defending this innocent child from his and her enemies.

He had fulfilled the terms of their Vow to the letter. And when she reached Hogwarts he would release her from her Vow, which would free him from his. And eliminate the possibility of accidents in judgement harming either of them once she was out in the world on her own.

He could hardly wait to see Sirius' face when he learned he had a six-year-old cousin. And that Gilderoy expected _Sirius_ to be the father figure for the girl. Fun times indeed!

He levitated her to the sitting room and used the floo to take her to Cygnus Black's Manor. Kreacher, Dobby, and Bipsy — Cygnus Black's House-elf — had spent the previous day preparing the abandoned building for its brief occupancy by little Miss Black. Gone were the belongings left behind by the older Bellatrix, instead her bedroom looked like a typical little girl's room, with age-appropriate toys, clothes, and other furniture. For the next week, she would be living there with only Bipsy as a companion. Next Monday he would accidentally "discover" her and bring her back to Grimmauld Place.

He had made sure that Bipsy remembered only the little girl Bellatrix, and _obliviated_ her memories of the older girl. That and a few carefully planned out orders would keep Bell's secret from both Bell and anyone else.

(⊙_◎)

"May I say congratulations, Minister Bones?" Gilderoy said as he walked into her new office, escorted by her secretary. Today, in his opinion, he was stunning in his sky-blue robe set.

She gave him a severe look. "It's your fault I'm in here," she said drily.

He grinned happily. "It couldn't have happened to a better person, especially in view of those items you know I am searching for."

She harrumphed as they settled onto the two chairs in one corner of her new office, and now permanent for the next six years, as her secretary brought over a tea set with scones.

"Oh, before I forget," he reached inside his robe pocket and pulled out a parchment. "Albus asked me to give this to you." He handed it to her. "It's something he's been working on for several years, apparently, and he claims it works." He smiled at her. He just had to put those award-winning teeth on display. He pulled a small vial out of another pocket and placed it on the table. As the label indicated, it held twenty-drops worth of Phoenix tears.

"It is truly a remarkable achievement. When he explained what it did, my first thought was of the advantage it would give you here at the Ministry. Just imagine the leverage it will give you with Death Eaters if you can offer it to some of the lower echelons in exchange for ratting out their bosses! You could even use it to put an Auror undercover in his organization."

She took a few minutes to read the parchment in detail before looking up. "Yes, this might prove quite useful."

They sat sipping their teas for a moment.

"I was surprised to read in _The Daily Prophet_ that Barty Crouch, Senior, had been hiding his son under an _imperio_ all these years." He shook his head ruefully. "Amazing, isn't it? The Wizard responsible for putting Sirius unjustly in Azkaban also successfully snuck his own son out after putting him there in the first place! And then kept him hidden under an Unforgiveable for years. What a hypocrite." He took a sip of tea. "Junior has already been given the Kiss, I've been led to believe." He raised an eyebrow inquiringly.

The new Minister for Magic nodded, adding, "A week after we raided the Manor, and only a day after we confirmed it really was Barty Crouch, Junior, and not someone under a glamour or polyjuiced. Veritaserum also proved it. And that he had done nothing additional in the years after his father retrieved him."

"The Wizengamot's trial for Barty, Senior, is this Thursday, is it not?"

At Madam Bone's acknowledgement, he continued, "Just so you know, I intend to name Sirius Black as the proxy for House Black. The Healers at St. Mungos tell me he is much better now, and that only time is needed for farther improvement." He chuckled. "Just imagine, that prankster in the Wizenmaggots leading House Black. Oh, yes, that lot will _love_ having him in. And the irony of having Sirius sit judgement on Barty is just delicious." And Sirius had just loved hearing Harry calling the Wizengamot, Wizenmaggots, and adopted the word for his own use.

He set his cup back down before leaning back. "You should know that an increase in the D.M.L.E. budget will be looked on favourably by Houses Black, Potter, Slytherin, Gryffindor, and Gaunt, so long as the extra funds go to better training and armour for the Aurors. And bringing the staffing up to a more reasonable level. Just because it's quiet right now doesn't mean it will last forever."

She silently refilled his cup and handed it to him.

"You should also see about increasing the staff in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office with a few Muggle-born. Arthur Weasley is an excellent Wizard, but he is a Pureblood and for all his enthusiasm he misses things simply because he doesn't understand Muggle society today. Perhaps hire a few more Obliviators, as well. And give the poor man a raise to bring his position in line with the rest."

They sat a moment longer.

Gilderoy reached into a different pocket, pulled out two envelopes, and handed them to her. "These are invites to Harry Potter's birthday party on July 31st. One is for your niece, Susan, and the other is for Hannah Abbot. They are charmed so that only the intended recipient can read the actual address, as it is under a Fidelius Charm. I give them to you so that their parents, and your brother, will know it is all correct and above board. Also attending will be Hermione Granger, Neville Longbottom, Luna Lovegood, and Ginny, Ron, Fred, and George Weasley. Part of the festivities will include attending a Muggle Theme Park during the day and then a cinema in the evening. As it will be quite late when they finish, they will stay overnight, chaperoned, of course, be served breakfast, and then returned to their homes.

"One of your Auror trainees is a metamorphagus, with your permission I would like to avail myself of her services for those two days as your other Aurors tend to stand out in a Muggle setting. If you would like to bring an Auror class as a stealth training exercise, I will happily pay for their attendance.

"This is Harry's very _first_ birthday party ever and I intend it to come off without a hitch."

"Theme Park? Cinema?"

He knew she hadn't missed the fact that this would be the little Wizard's _first_ birthday party even though he was twelve.

"I thought you might have a few questions. Here is a dodger on the theme park." He pulled a folded slick paper out of his pocket and handed it to her. "A cinema is a theatre where they show a story using moving pictures with sound instead of actors on a stage. You'll have to see one to understand. I'm planning to take them to see one called Jurassic Park. I'm sure any of your Muggle-born employees can help you find a local cinema for research."

He sat back and sipped at his tea while Madam Bones considered all he had told her.

"Well, _Minister_ Bones, thank you for your time," he said standing. She quickly stood as well. "And I've taken enough of it already. I'm sure there are many things you need to do, so I'll take my leave." He headed for the door to her office, only to turn at the last minute.

"By the way, I remember reading and hearing about Death Eater attacks in 1980 and 1981 where the victims inexplicably failed to use their floos to escape. Did it ever occur to anyone that maybe one of the Floo Network Regulators might have been a Death Eater or a sympathizer, and that this person illegally _shut off_ the Floo access to the target so the victims could not escape? By the time the Aurors heard there was a problem, access had already been restored. That would make them an accessory to murder, which is a more than sufficient reason to interrogate the staff from that time. Perhaps a truth compulsion on their chair when you call them in to clear up some details from that time?

"In any case, perhaps you should include a Magical Oath for the Regulators that they will not shut down Floo access without a written order from either the Wizengamot, the Head of the D.M.L.E. or the Minister."

He smiled broadly at her startled expression, and then exited her office. As he was walking away, he heard her mutter, "Every time! _Every time_ that Wizard comes here, he oh so innocently leaves me with an exploding cauldron." And she sighed deeply.

How he loved to hear the sound of chaos in his wake. It wasn't much chaos this time, but still. He _was_ developing a reputation . . . .

(⊙_⊙)

"Thank you all for coming today." Harry/Gilderoy looked round the sitting room. The Tonks — Andromeda, Ted, and Nymphadora — were sitting on the couch, Sirius was in one chair and Remus was in another, and Narcissa and Draco were sitting rigidly on the love seat. "I realize things in House Black have changed dramatically over the last six months, and they are continuing to change."

Sirius was glaring at Narcissa while Andromeda glanced from person to person. Narcissa was staring at Gilderoy, and Draco at the floor.

"I am, as you all know, Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defence League, five-time winner of _Witch Weekly's_ Most-Charming-Smile Award, Hogwarts' beloved Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor, and Slayer of Basilisks. I am _also_ Lord Black, Head of the House Black, through circumstances I am _not_ going to explain, but the results of which the Goblins tell me are incontrovertible." He displayed the House ring on his finger. "As farther evidence, Kreacher, Bipsy!"

"Kreacher is here, Master." "Bipsy is here, Master."

"I am sure you recognize Kreacher, Sirius. Narcissa, Andromeda you remember Bipsy from your father's manor, don't you?" They all nodded. Draco and Tonks both stared, amazed. "Kreacher, Bipsy, tell the truth in answer to my questions right now. Am I Lord of House Black?"

"Yes, Master." "Yes, Master."

"And you both are House-elves to House Black?"

"Yes, Master." "Yes, Master."

"And you obey my orders without question?"

"Yes, Master." "Yes, Master."

"Anyone have any questions?"

Silence.

"Excellent. You may return to your other duties," he said to the two elves.

"First business, I would like to officially welcome back to House Black Andromeda Tonks and her family. I reinstated her and her family a few months ago, but this is the first chance we've had as a family to welcome her." He turned a warm, and toothy, smile on the family. "That Nymie here is a metamorphagus shows that the family traits run strong in her blood, strengthened, no doubt, by the addition of her father's blood as well." Draco looked like he had swallowed something distasteful, but kept his mouth shut. His mother watched calmly. The Tonks family merely looked happy and proud at his acknowledgement. Sirius and Remus looked amused. Tonksie's hair was cycling through a variety of shades, which probably indicated pride, embarrassment, happiness, and several other emotions.

"Second business, welcome home, Sirius."

Sirius raised his glass of fire whiskey in salute, accepting the words of welcome from the rest of his family.

"Sirius is still recovering from his experiences in Azkaban. He is still seeing the Healers on a weekly basis for any concerns that crop up. He will be assuming the House Black chair at the Wizenmaggots and handling all the family's business. Even after being absent for ten years he knows far more about House Black interests than I do." Sirius made a face at the thought of being in the Wizengamot. "He has agreed to keep his pranking down to a minimum while in that august body's chambers." Harry smirked. "The pranks are going to be a bit more cerebral as we rebuild the Ministry into something that is actually helpful to most Wizards and Witches." He turned to face the Malfoys. "Narcissa, if you know _anything_ about your late husband's schemes, I expect you to inform Sirius in as much detail as you can." She nodded. "Family loyalty will be rewarded," he added. "The Wight Cottage on the Isle of Wight is available if you'd like to have it as a domicile."

Gilderoy picked up Narcissa's carefully hidden surprise at the offer, and relief. He knew their budget was at the breaking point renting the house they currently lived in. Having a rent-free home would go a long ways towards providing stability. "Yes, my Lord," she said, "That would be most helpful if we could."

He nodded. "Kreacher, help them move when called."

"Yes, Master."

"If this works out, Narcissa, perhaps we can assign Kreacher to your residence."

Both Kreacher and Narcissa looked intrigued at the offer.

"Third business, House Black has a reputation of being Dark. That is going to change. House Black is going to be Grey, neither Light nor Dark. We use magic according to our _needs_ , pushing neither Light nor Dark on anyone. We will _not_ use any magic whose sole intent is to harm others except as defence in dire circumstances. Every sentient creature deserves our respect, no matter how lowly they may seem — even ants can kill a Wizard if they attack in sufficient number. And all are welcome here in this house as long as they agree with these tenets.

"Pureblood beliefs are a fraud. Anyone with basic math skills can show that if the Purebloods marry only Purebloods then in two hundred years there won't _BE_ any Purebloods!" Draco looked mutinous at that statement.

He sighed and turned to the boy. "Draco, let's say there are two hundred pureblood Witches and Wizards graduating today from Hogwarts, they marry. You now have one hundred families. They each have one child, which seems the normal in Pure-blood families. In twenty-five years, those one hundred children marry and each have one child. Twenty-five years later, those fifty children marry and have one child. Then those twenty-four children marry and have one child. Draco, it hasn't been a hundred years and the pureblood lines have fallen from two hundred to twelve Pureblood children!

"Without Half-bloods to replenish the lines, the Purebloods _will_ die out. And the Half-bloods have the same problem, it would just take longer. We _need_ Muggle-borns coming into our marriage pool or our society is doomed. _It's simple math!_ If you don't believe me, then do a bit of research yourself and you'll prove my point."

Draco looked stunned. In fact, so did Andromeda, Nymphadora, and Narcissa. Sirius and Remus had probably heard Lily rant on this topic herself.

"So, the philosophy of Pure-bloods above all is a disaster waiting to happen. We will not support it. That said there is no reason not to be proud of your House's ancient roots in the Magical World. That, however, does _not_ mean you are better than anyone else, just that you are proud of your heritage. If you want ancient, the Patils can trace their line back two thousand years — by Pure-blood logic they should be top dogs in England, yet you, Draco, have looked down on them as inferiors at Hogwarts!" He stared at the boy waiting for his acknowledgement, which came as a reluctant small nod and a look away.

"And the final Family Business is someone I'd like you all to meet. Wait here a moment." Harry hurried out of the room. A minute later, he returned holding the hand of a little six-year-old black-haired girl.

"It is my great honour," he said, "to introduce to you Belladonna Bellatrix Black, the youngest daughter of Cygnus Black III and Druella Black (née Rosier) and sister to Andromeda and Narcissa." The entire room broke into gasps and exclamations. The little girl took a step back and half-hid behind Harry/Gilderoy. The youngest Tonk's hair cycling through every colour in the rainbow.

"Cygnus and Druella kept her birth a secret for reasons unknown. Sirius, you may not know it, but both Cygnus and Druella died last year Spring. Miss Black, here, has been living alone since then with only a house-elf, Bipsy, taking care of her. Last week, after Hogwarts let out, I started inventorying the Black estate. Imagine my surprise when I discovered her at Cygnus' Manor, in the private wing." He smiled down at the girl who was uncertainly staring at the two Witches now in front of her on their knees.

"Bell? These two pretty Witches are your sisters. The one on your left is Narcissa and the other is Andromeda."

Shyly, the girl said, "Hello."

He pointed at Sirius, "That cad . . ."

"Oi!"

". . . over there in the chair is Sirius, your cousin on your father's side." He pointed at Remus, "And that is Remus Lupin. Once a month, on the night of the full moon, he turns into a werewolf and is very dangerous. The rest of the time he's a pushover for little girls like you."

Remus stiffened while most everyone else stared or reached for a wand.

"Oh, come on!" Gilderoy said exasperatedly. "It's only one night a month! If you're going to get worked up about how dangerous he is once a month, then you ladies should also be looked on with fear because once a month you are _real_ terrors for a _whole week_ — even if your husbands never mention it to you!"

Harry was lucky to escape the sitting room intact in the storm of hexes that flew at him. He yelled down the stairs, "See? I told you women were _more_ dangerous than werewolves!" He could hear Sirius' laughter suddenly change to yelps as he became a target.

The little girl's giggling laughter made him smile.


	25. Chapter 25 Summer in the City

**25\. Summer in the City**

Gilderoy walked up to the Dursley front door and knocked. Today was Saturday and he looked positively dashing in his khaki robe set. He usually reserved _this_ outfit for when he had to travel in rough country; the vest had a few more pockets, as did the trousers. Today, he simply felt adventurous. He had carefully concealed his wands, of course. He ignored as trivial that he was dreadfully overdressed for the neighbourhood. He knew every eye of the snoopy neighbours was on him.

He was about to knock a second time when Harry opened the door.

"Harry, my boy! So good to see you," Gilderoy said jovially. "Your two week sentence is over. I hope things went well?"

Harry stood staring a moment, then said, "Yes, very well. Please come in while I get my things."

Petunia was standing at the kitchen doorway looking at him as he came in.

"Ah, Petunia! I hope I find you well today? I presume Dudley is off carousing with his friends and your dear husband is . . . golfing?" Which Harry/Gilderoy knew was true. It was why he had shown up when he did.

She nodded, a sour expression on her face.

"Harry?" Gilderoy said as the boy reached the top of the stairs, "Leave nothing behind, hmm?"

Harry nodded and disappeared down the hall to his room.

He smiled broadly, showing off his perfect teeth. "Rejoice, Petunia! I think that I can safely say that this is the last time you will see Mr. Potter, barring unforeseen disastrous-for-all-concerned circumstances," he said as Harry came down the stairs. Gilderoy assumed he had placed everything in his trunk, shrunk it, and put it in his pocket.

"By your leave," Gilderoy said as Harry opened the front door and stepped out. Gilderoy quickly casted a disillusionment charm on himself before he went outside. Harry smirked to himself. Petunia probably approved of his hiding himself from view. If she only knew.

They headed for the nearby park. Moments later, they were on the deck in the back yard at Grimmauld Place, the normal appartition point for those acceptable to the protective enchantments — only Gilderoy could apparate into the house itself. Harry, both of them, grinned happily, though for very different reasons. Harry Potter because he was shot of the Dursleys, and Harry/Gilderoy because those snoopy neighbours were going to have a field day about the well-dressed man who entered the Dursley house and then, as far as they knew, spent the entire day with Petunia, unchaperoned! After all, they _had_ seen Harry leave the house unaccompanied. Hah! The gossip about her cheating on Vernon would run rampant, he knew. And she wouldn't be able to explain how he had managed to leave undetected. The gossipmongers would have a field-day! She would be known as a scarlet woman by the end of the week. And unable to ever recover.

"Good riddance to bad rubbish," said Gilderoy as he conducted the boy into the Smoking Room and then down the hall towards the front of the house. "Harry, I am happy to tell you that I don't think you need to worry about _ever_ seeing those obscene parodies of human beings ever again. This is your new home, according to the Wizenmaggots, until you reach your majority."

"Seriously?"

"No, he's Sirius," Gilderoy said as they walked into the sitting room, pointing at the thin man pretending to read _The Daily Prophet_. Said man grinned, "Did someone just make a joke of my name?"

"Seriously, Sirius, can't you just be serious for once . . . wait, you're always Sirius, right? By the way, this is your godson, Harry James Potter." He pushed the boy forward. "And Harry, this unrepentant reprobate is your godfather, Sirius Orion Black. He was your father's best friend and fellow marauder in Hogwarts. You might have a memory of someone called Padfoot, that is his animagus name. He is a Grimm.

Harry stared at the man wide-eyed. "You knew my father?"

Sirius was torn between laughing at the way Gilderoy had played with his name, being shocked that he not only knew he was an animagus, but also knew what kind and what his nickname was, or drinking in the sight of his godson and answering his question.

With a wary eye towards the smirking Gilderoy, he turned his attention to the boy and started telling him about how he had met the boy's father.

Somewhere in the afternoon Remus showed up and contributed his share of stories.

At supper that evening, Harry was more than a little startled to learn that in addition to living with Sirius and Gilderoy, he shared the house with Remus Lupin, a little girl named Bell, and the Tonks family! And all, except Remus, were related to him! He had inherited, it seemed, an entire family of Wizards and Witches.

After dessert, they adjourned to the sitting room for an evening of getting to know one another, which had surprises for everyone except Gilderoy. He quite enjoyed dropping leading statements and watching the others scramble as they tried to recover and figure out how he knew about those things. Remus made an early night of it, heading to the dungeon at 9:00. Moonrise was at 7:50 P.M. but sunset was 9:15, so he would transform as soon as the sunlight stopped interfering with the Moon's influence.

That was when Harry got the tour of the house and discovered Andromeda and Ted had the Master Bedroom Suite while Sirius was in the Heir's Suite, both on the top floor. Harry had the front bedroom suite overlooking the park in front of Grimmauld Place on the second floor while Bell took the rear bedroom suite overlooking the backyard garden and Tonks was in one of the second-floor magically expanded middle-bedroom suites. All seven rooms had private full bathrooms.

As a non-family visitor, Remus had one of the seven bedrooms on the first floor for stay-over guests. Gilderoy expected the Grangers to be using those rooms the most. Gilderoy had taken over the study on the first floor. His five-room walk-in trunk bedroom suite in one corner provided his sleeping accommodations.

Andromeda and Narcissa had shot down his original plan to have Sirius as the little girl's "parent." Instead, they insisted that the girl needed an adult Witch to raise her properly. Hence their usurping of the Master Suite, at Gilderoy's insistence after they browbeat him into accepting that Sirius was an unfit parent at the present time.

While the others prepared for bed, Gilderoy headed to the dungeon with Sirius. The two of them had transformed the duelling room there into a giant werewolf-proof cage for Remus. Gilderoy's had insisted Sirius and Remus stay at Grimmauld Place instead of out in the wilds.

"What the bloody hell did you do, Gil?" yelled Remus. "Yeah, what he said," said Sirius after transforming back from his Grimm. Remus had transformed just moments before into a werewolf. He had been taking the Wolfsbane potion all week and so had expected to maintain control of his mind while having the appearance of the wolf. Instead, not more than a minute after the transformation was complete, Gilderoy, outside the cage, had hit him with an unknown spell. And now he was human, again. The fur had disappeared, the teeth and snout had retreated, and he looked normal. Upset, but normal.

Harry laughed. "That, my friends, is a little spell I discovered. I wrote it all up in my book _Wanderings with Werewolves_. Didn't you bother reading it?" He laughed again at their stupefied expressions. "There you go again, underestimating the great Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, . . ."

". . . Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defence League, five-time winner of _Witch Weekly's_ Most-Charming-Smile Award, Hogwarts' beloved Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor, and Slayer of Basilisks," the other two finished in chorus for him, exasperated.

He continued laughing. "Gentlewizards, I present to you Gilderoy Lockhart's _Homorphus Reparifarge_ Charm." He bowed. "Thanks to me, Gilderoy Lockhart, never again shall you have to taste that vile concoction known as Wolfsbane! My new spell can change _any_ werewolf back to human form. It is a mite bit tricky and does require a powerful magical core, but the average wizard should be able to pull it off without completely exhausting themselves." He laughed again at their dumbfounded faces. "Here, let me teach you." They spent the rest of the evening practicing the spell. Remus decided to stay inside the cage until morning, in case the werewolf somehow managed to reassert itself. This _was_ his first time experiencing that spell.

Just before he headed upstairs for bed, Gilderoy said, "By the way, I opened a new Vault recently, _The Gilderoy Lockhart Investment Fund_ , here is the key," he held it up. With all those stolen galleons in that vault, he couldn't just let them sit there. Not when he could put them to good use and stimulate the Wizarding economy. It is much harder to find malcontents in an expanding economy with many available employment opportunities to keep the citizens happy. "I want you two to get the word out that the fund is in business and willing to loan money to anyone who wants to start a new business, either Muggle or Wizardly. They will have to have a firm business plan, of course." He tossed the key to a surprised Remus. "Here, you're in charge of it." He grinned at their stunned expressions. "Gringotts has the details on your salaries. Try not to lose too much money." He left Sirius sputtering that he didn't know anything about running a business. Gilderoy called down the stairs, "Then hire someone who does, that's what I just did!"

At the next full moon, August Second, Harry intended to have Rita here, and have her cast the spell herself. That would make for an interesting headline article, now wouldn't it? And yet another notch on his broomstick of accomplishments that would keep his name in front of an adoring public.

The next day Gilderoy gave Hermione a Frisbee he had made into a repeating two-way portkey — with the permission of Minister Bones, naturally. Gilderoy thought the minister had looked slightly disappointed when he left without dropping any exploding cauldrons into her lap. A mild reverse prank, but amusing — he didn't want to become too predictable, did he?

The portkey would let Hermione visit Grimmauld Place and return home anytime she wanted. It would "lock" on September Second and become unusable until the Christmas break. Then lock again until next summer.

Hermione spent most of the day grilling Sirius on how he became an animagus. Sirius spent most of the day glaring at Gilderoy for revealing his secret, _again_. Unbeknownst to Sirius, Lockhart had arranged with Minister Bones to keep the Wizard's second form a secret as a goodwill gesture and part of the Ministry's repayment for his illegal incarceration. Watching him struggle to keep his "secret" when he didn't have to was going to be just so amusing, especially when Gildreroy was telling everyone Sirius knew about it. And Sirius' expression when he finally discovered he didn't need to hide his animagus form would be just piceless.

The following weekend the Grangers stayed over. They were suitably impressed with the Manor. Hermione spent almost that entire weekend showing off all the spells she knew. Watching an exasperated Sirius change back and forth between his Grimm form, after Harry gleefully revealed his "expertise" to the surprised Grangers, left them speechless.

They were still unsure about moving into the Dagworth-Granger Manor, primarily because of the rest of their family. Trying to hide the magic would be extremely difficult. Not to mention the difficulty in explaining how they could afford what was clearly a very expensive estate, well beyond their incomes as Dentists. Hermione would probably use it after she graduated.

They were just as speechless when he handed over to Hermione the veritable fortune of one hundred-thousand galleons as her part of the haul from the Basilisk ingredients.

The Weasley's didn't know it, yet, but Ginny was going to get a vault with two hundred thousand galleons. Ginny was now in the top one hundred richest Witches in the country. Hermione was in the top five hundred. Gildreoy thought it hilarious that Hermione's net worth was now almost double that of her parents, as he delightedly told them. And she was only thirteen!

(◎_⊙)

The days passed quickly for Harry/Gilderoy. He split his time between the potions workshop and his books. While Harry knew he would derive the most satisfaction from what he planned to do this summer, for Gilderoy it was all a yawn as the headlines would not be anything that great. So, Gilderoy was kept busy with his writing and editing — had to make sure those stories were absolutely captivating while always showing off Gilderoy and his talents in the best possible light, not to mention his perfect fashion sense. The occasional book-signing helped control his restlessness.

Since Hogwarts' term had ended, Harry Lockhart had spent most of his time working on a Werewolf cure. The Deathly Hallows ring proved invaluable in that respect. He now had what he hoped was a workable cure. Unfortunately, the earliest opportunity to test it would be August Second. But that date was already booked with Rita for a headline featuring Gilderoy Lockhart's Homorphus Reparifarge Charm — and Harry knew he wouldn't be able to convince the Wizard to abandon the publicity. In any event, it used Phoenix tears, Basilisk venom, wolfsbane, and several other rare ingredients. That made it very expensive, much more so than the seven-days of Wolfsbane potion.

He would have to put off testing the cure until August Thirty-first. If it worked, he would set up a priority list, starting with the youngest and going to the oldest. Between the fortunes of House Potter and House Black, they should be able to put together a fund to provide the potion and eliminate lycanthropy within the next ten years. Sooner if he could get the Ministry to fund the potion supply.

(⊙_◎)

Lockhart walked past the St. Mungos' receptionist and headed straight for the elevators. He was dressed in conservative non-descript grey robes and used a subtle _Notice-Me-Not_ spell to avoid attracting attention — people could see him, but would be inclined to ignore him. Gilderoy hated being invisible, but for Harry's research and work to be effective, he couldn't be seen where he was going to be working. He had no legitimate reason to be in the Long Term Spell Damage Ward. And while he might have been able to get permission, this was one situation where it was better to ask forgiveness than permission.

It was while he was working on Bipsy and Belladonna that he first had the idea. With Bell, he had noted that her personality changed the farther back he went in her memories. That was, of course, what he had wanted. It had struck him, though, as he worked through her teenage years and noticed how certain events had shaped her outlook on life, to wonder if he could apply what he was doing to the Longbottoms.

Neville Longbottom's parents had been tortured into insanity via the Cruciatus Curse. Actually, they weren't insane, instead they were nearly comatose. To escape the pain, their minds had shattered and now nothing was left. Or had their consciousnesses retreated so far from the body that they never realized the pain had stopped? In either case, even though the hospital healers had cured the physical damage done to their nerves and bodies long ago, the mental ability to do things was gone. If he _obliviated_ their memories of their attack, could he restore their minds to functionality?

Well, if he was wrong then it didn't really matter. No one would ever know that these two patients had lost eleven and three-quarter years of their lives. No one would ever know he had been here. No one would ever be disappointed at his failure. No, he certainly didn't want his adoring public to discover he had _failed_ in one of his endeavours!

Clearly, the risks were low and he had nothing to lose in trying. And the payoff if he succeeded? For Harry it was worth more than all his galleons. For Gilderoy, meh. But Harry had delivered on his promises of fame and fortune, so Gilderoy was willing to cooperate. And if this worked, maybe he could find some poor soul elsewhere in the world suffering the same ailment as the Longbottoms and cure _them_ to world-wide headlines!

He decided to start with Neville's father first. It was past 10 P.M. and everyone was asleep in the ward, of course. A quick _confundo_ and the nurse on duty was too preoccupied to notice anything he did that night. He followed that with a heavy _Notice-Me-Not_ and Silencing spell. Unless there was a disaster on the ward floor, the nurse would not think to check on the Longbottoms until her shift was over at eight in the morning.

He transformed the small Spartan chair beside the bed into a very comfortable ergonomic chair that held him at the right height beside the bed to work. Then he arranged Frank into a sitting position directly before him, with their eyes on a level, and cast a petrification hex to hold the man stationary while Gilderoy was clear-cutting his memories.

A sleeping mind is difficult to navigate for most legilimens, but Gilderoy Lockhart was not like most such experts. Mind Arts were his speciality. He quickly subjugated the formless dream/nightmare in progress and started removing memories. It went fairly quickly as any associations between memories of one day and the next were almost non-existent. Much sooner than he expected he reached the time when Frank was under the Cruciatus. Even second-hand the pain was remarkable in its intensity. A few minutes later, and the last thing Frank remembered were two Wizards and a Witch bursting into their sitting room and attacking them. The fight had lasted several minutes, and then . . . there was nothing. Bella had casted the Cruciatus wordlessly, so there was no warning. Something shattered his hastily erected shield and then he knew no more. The hours of torture and questioning no longer existed in his mind.

Gilderoy sat back in his chair. He pulled a Pepper-up Potion out of his pocket and drank it, then stood and did some stretching exercises. He had taken two hours to do that, he noted. Sitting absolutely immobile for that long generated more than a few stiff sore spots in his muscles. That was one reason why he had limited himself to only removing two years of memories at a time from Bellatrix — her memories had been much more complex.

A pain-killing potion took care of the rest of his aches. He re-arranged the sleeping Wizard back into his bed, and cast a _stupefy_ so the man wouldn't wake up in the middle of Gilderoy's treating his wife, Alice, and start yelling. He should easily sleep until morning.

After arranging and petrifying Alice, Gilderoy went to work once more.

Alice, it turned out, was tougher than her husband and had a higher tolerance for pain. Either that or the three Death Eaters had lost patience and stopped sooner. Perhaps they had believed her when she said she didn't know to where their Dark Lord had disappeared.

In any case, it was more . . . not difficult . . . just . . . more tedious. The associations linking daily events were more numerous, especially her desire to save gum wrappers for her son Neville. However, Gilderoy prided himself on being persistent, and drudgework for a good reason had never deterred him. After almost double the hours he had spent with Frank, he was erasing the actual torture session. Like her husband, all she would remember were the attackers and her valiant efforts to keep the three Death Eaters from realizing that her baby, Neville, was asleep and hidden behind a shielded glamour she had barely had time to erect.

In the meantime, she had fought like a demon beside her husband until she saw her husband's shield shatter and him fall to the floor. That moment's distraction was her ruin as almost immediately the same thing happened to her.

Gilderoy was sweating by the time he finished. He quickly arranged the Witch back to the position she had been in before he had started. He took another Pepper-up and pain killer potion before erasing all traces of his being there that night. He casted a _finite_ at the nurse as he exited the ward doors. She would never realize anyone had been in the ward or that she had skipped the Longbottoms while doing her rounds.

If this didn't work, he had a few ideas on a potion that might work, but that would be much riskier in its results. He wouldn't know of his success or failure until that evening's _Daily Prophet_ either proclaimed a miracle or mentioned only normal news and gossip.

The sun was just cresting the horizon when Harry/Gilderoy apparated back to Grimmauld place. He hung a sign on the Study door — _The Great Gilderoy Lockart is Doing Great Deeds! Do Not Disturb!_ — and locked himself in his trunk bedroom.

That evening, just before the elves served supper, the evening _Daily Prophet_ arrived with the banner headline, _Miracle at St. Mungos!_ Below that, it said _Famous Aurors in Long Term Spell Damage Ward Wake!_ There were several articles on the Longbottoms, what had happened to them, the war in general, and Harry Potter (of course). No-one at the hospital could explain why they woke when they did, but no one was going to complain about it, _that_ was for sure.

Young Harry was thrilled when Remus explained that Neville Longbottom had had his parents returned from the living dead. It was, without a doubt, the best birthday present Neville _ever_ had, or would have, even if his birthday wasn't until the following week.

(◎_◎)

Harry's birthday party was everything Harry/Gilderoy could have wanted. All the invited guests showed up. The Pure-bloods were completely astounded at the theme park with its many rides and entertainments, even the adults — while Sirius and Remus had heard of them when they were in Hogwarts, they had never actually been to one. Harry was just as thrilled to be there after hearing Dudley's long and involved bragging about how much fun it was so many times.

The pizza party later was just as big a hit, with only Hermione having had it before. All the kids swore that they had to bribe the Hogwarts elves into adding this indescribable meal to the menu. Hermione, naturally, told them the three rules of eating: Never eat anything bigger than your head; Never eat anything that's covered in red; And never, ever eat anything that looks like a dog threw it up. And pizza broke all three!

The movie, Jurassic Park, released only the month before, had been just as big a hit. The Purebloods were amazed at the realness of the production, and astonished to hear that there was an entire industry devoted to just creating movies — an industry that _employed_ more people than _lived_ in the Wizarding World! The food hits of the theatre, though, were popcorn and sodas. Those provoked another round of "must haves" for the Hogwarts elves. When Hermione let slip that her dad had a "home theatre" where she watched movies, and that she had dozens and dozens of movies, the others demanded to see what she was talking about.

Gilderoy was sure they had visions of a smaller version of the commercial theatre in the girl's home with this "telly" thing as the screen. They were not far wrong, as they saw when they visited the Grangers home the next morning after breakfast using Hermione's portkey. Mr. Granger had one room of the home arranged as a home theatre with comfy chairs and couch, and a theatre-style popcorn machine in one corner. The screen was a giant eighty-inch behemoth that took up most of one wall, with cabinets to either side stuffed with VCR films. They had everything from tear-jerkers to comedies to action thrillers. The kids sat on the edges of their seats as they watched Indiana Jones save the world from the evil Nazi's.

The kids had lunch at the Grangers, which took far longer to fix than it should have as most of them crowded into kitchen/dining room to watch how a Muggle prepared a meal. By popular acclaim, they decided that Wednesday was Matinee Movie Day. After all, they had all those movies to see . . . .

Later, as the other children were floo'ing home, Gilderoy pulled the two Weasley twins aside.

"Fred, George, can you imagine what a hit it would be to sell movies and tellys to Wizards, if _only_ you could make them work in a magical environment?"

He grinned at their frantic nods and exclamations of agreement.

He handed them a large shopping bag full of boxy things — he had gone shopping that morning while they were at the Grangers. "Here are three cassette recorders, batteries, and tapes. These are the exact same as the VCR you saw today, only smaller and restricted to voice. Why don't you grab Harry and Hermione and take them with you to The Burrow and experiment with these at the edges of your property? Perhaps the four of you can develop a way to shield the electronics from magic? Or, perhaps, toughen the electronics so they can work in a magical field?"

Their eyes practically lit up in delight at the thought and they looked at each other doing that silent twin communication.

"While everyone says electric things don't work in a magical field, that isn't necessarily true. After all, your very bodies use electricity in your nerves and to make your muscles work. If magic ruined all electrical things, we'd all die the first time we tried magic! Tell Hermione to bring a book about how the nervous system works on a cellular level.

"By the way, if you remove the batteries, I think _reparo_ can fix any electronic thing that breaks. After all, without the batteries installed there is no electricity and the recorders become just like any _other_ broken item.

"Oh, by the way, I included a couple of books on runes, as well.

"And if you were to succeed? I think you would get a NEWT in Charms, at the least. Maybe even in Runes."

Grimmauld Place did not see either Harry or Hermione until late that evening.

And, even better from Harry/Gilderoy's point of view, Ron was intensely jealous, practically foaming at the mouth at how rich Harry now was, and that even his _sister_ had wealth beyond anything he had ever expected. He took to avoiding them both whenever they were at The Burrow. Ginny, on the other hand, practically glued herself to their sides and rarely let them out of her sight.

Two days after Harry's birthday party, Gilderoy met Rita Skeeter and Bozo at the Leaky Cauldron an hour before sundown. They floo'd to one of the five House Black properties.

"And in here," Gilderoy said as they left the sitting room and entered what used to be the dining room of the small manor, "is our Werewolf cage with resident Werewolf. Rita Skeeter, may I introduce to you Remus Lupin. Remus? Rita." The Witch eyed the Wizard carefully while Bozo took a few pictures. "As you can see, he is dressed rather loosely. For modesty's sake, we deliberately weakened the stitching in the robes so that they will tear off when Remus transforms — normally he just strips nude prior to transforming to protect his clothing. Just to make this a worst-case situation, Mr. Lupin has _not_ been taking the Wolfsbane Potion. When he transforms, the wolf will be in full control."

Remus spoke up, "And, as you know, if I were an animagus, my clothes would transform with me. That they don't is just one more proof that I really am a werewolf." He laughed at the irony of having to prove he was a werewolf. Usually all it took was a rumour to chase people away. Remus walked over and sat down on the comfy chair inside the cage. He had a book resting on a small table beside the chair, along with a tea set.

"Now, then," said Gilderoy, "Let's practice the words to the spell first." He drilled her relentlessly for twenty minutes until she could say the spell flawlessly and rapidly. Then he spent the next half hour drilling her in her wand movements. Bozo took pictures, of course. They planned to document every step of the casting process to make a tutorial. This way, every Wizard and Witch in the country could learn the spell just by purchasing that particular issue of _The Daily Prophet_ — guaranteeing that the paper would be a complete sell-out and require reprints for several years to keep up with the demand.

Gilderoy was sure the D.M.L.E. was conducting their own tests tonight, and Rita would definitely be asking them about their experience with the spell.

Finally, the time came. "Remember, now, Rita, you want to push all you can with the intent that Remus return to being human when you cast," Gilderoy said as Remus started the painful transformation into being a werewolf.

Remus was on all fours, panting from the transformation, and the shreds of his clothes were scattered around him. He slowly rose to his feet and looked around, growling loudly as he saw them, saliva dripping from his bared teeth. He started quickly towards them, teeth bared and clawed hands rising as Bozo frantically took pictures. There would be no doubt in anyone's mind that Remus had truly become an uncontrollable werewolf.

"Okay, Rita, cast it now!"

Rita took a deep breath and firmly cast the spell, _Homorphus Reparifarge_ , and made the correct wand movements. The spell hit Remus squarely in the stomach. Remus flinched and stumbled. He started whining. His fur disappeared, the snout and long teeth retracted, he lost the muscle mass the werewolf had added.

Gilderoy conjured large towel around the former werewolf's waist to protect his modesty, and then magically guided a bathrobe to the shaking Wizard.

Remus stood, panting. He ran a hand through his hair, then swivelled his head, stretching his neck muscles. "Merlin, but that hurts," he said. He walked gingerly back to his chair and collapsed into it. He poured himself a generous helping of tea and took a deep drink.

"Well, Rita?" asked Gilderoy, "How do you feel? What do you think?"

Still staring at Remus, she said, "That . . . was rather tiring, but not that difficult." She looked at Gilderoy. "This, this is incredible. This changes _everything_ about them." She looked back at Remus. "If it really does last all night, it'll cause a sea-change in public opinion. There's no reason to be afraid of werewolves, no more than anyone should be afraid of another Wizard. As long as you have your wand at hand, you're perfectly safe." This would be another epic _Prophet_ issue for her. Gilderoy had turned into a goldmine for her. Every story he gave her became a sell-out issue. She didn't have to make up slander to sell papers; the truth served her far better. She no longer had to scramble for ideas and leads, people, not just Lockhart, either, brought headline stories to her.

She sat in one of the three chairs outside the cage, "Mr. Lupin, Remus, if you don't mind telling me, how did you become a werewolf?"

Gilderoy smiled. It would be a long night, but so worthwhile. Once more, his name would be on everyone's lips.

(◎_⊙)

August passed by quickly. Gilderoy's book, _Burrowing with a Basilisk,_ was at the publisher's now undergoing a final review before they scheduled the actual print run. The goal was to get the book out the last week of November, just in time for the Christmas buying season. Preliminary marketing to the bookstores was already in the works, building excitement for its release. Unlike his previous books there were many pages of pictures of Hogwarts, Myrtle's bathroom entrance, the Chamber and the Basilisk — photographic proof of his greatness. Harry, Hermione, and Ginny would get a portion of the proceeds for their part in the adventure.

While he waited for the publisher's final proofs, Harry/Gilderoy worked on his second Hogwarts' book, _Restraining_ _a Rat_. That was a bit tougher as many of its events were concurrent with the previous book and he had to do a bit of creative writing to make things fit properly. He was able to work in his attack on the Acromantula colony as rescuing a group of foolhardy children in the Forbidden Forest on a dare. The photos of his memories were more than adequate for the book.

Unfortunately, the werewolves he had to leave out as their story in _The Daily Prophet_ came out _after_ the story about unmasking Peter. Fortunately, he was able to mine his and Sirius' memories about the events of and prior to Halloween, 1981, and make that an important centrepiece of the book as the _definitive_ story of what happened that night and Peter's betrayal. Lockhart's in-depth interrogations of the rat prior to his unmasking made the story that much more realistic — he made up a chapter where Peter snuck into Azkaban and gloated over Sirius' imprisonment and what he had done.

When Gilderoy was ruminating on what to say and how, Harry used Gilderoy's book-signing travel connections to narrow down the area he needed to search in Albania to find Voldewhore's wraith. Even though Albania was one-tenth the size of the United Kingdom that was still over 11,000 square miles to search. The Forest of Dean was miniscule by comparison, and it had seemed vast when he and Hermione had been hiding from the Snatcher Squads. So far, he had narrowed it down to the Accursed Mountains in the northern quarter of the country. Better, but still a vast area of extremely rugged mountains. He would try to narrow down the area before winter had a chance to settle in, and then return there in the Spring, April he hoped. If all went to plan, he would find out if the Draught of Living Death could be given to a spirit! If not, then he planned to force the wraith into a garter snake and thence into a break-proof jar. In either event, he would have a new desk ornament for his study.

In the meantime, he had a grand time with Sirius and Harry. Bell was a delight. Bashful at first, but after a few weeks exposure to Sirius and Remus, and their stories about Hogwarts, she was a terror. Pranking, it seemed, was in the blood of all House Black descendants, it was just a matter of if the talent was cultivated or stamped down. Sirius had flourished at Hogwarts with James, Remus, and Peter all into pranking. Bellatrix had subsumed her frustrated talent into hurting others.

Now that Bell was out of the harsh strictures of her father and mother demanding that she always behave like a lady, that Pure-bloods were perfect and above all others, and not do anything impulsive, she, too, began to flourish. The first time she dumped a bucket of water from the third floor, with a tiny bit of help in execution from Gilderoy, onto the unsuspecting Sirius as he stood by the stairs on the ground floor, he thought the old dog was going to expire he was laughing so hard. Naturally, Harry and Hermione, and the Tonks, were dragged into the prank wars and at any time Gilderoy would see one of the household, except Nymphadora, wandering around in various shades of colour that did not naturally occur in nature. Nymie used her metamorph abilities to mask any pranks that managed to hit her — quite the spoilsport! Even Hannah and Susan got into the pranks, a bit.

In short, the summer was everything Harry, both of them, could have wanted as a family life.

(⊙_◎)

It was August 31st and Rita, Bozo, Gilderoy, Sirius, and Remus were back at the Black property they had visited last month. Remus was, naturally, inside the werewolf cage, once again conjured by Sirius and Harry/Gilderoy.

"As I told you, Rita, this will either be my greatest triumph or the most embarrassing failure I've ever had." He held up his potion. "This should be a cure for lycanthropy." He handed the potion to Remus. "Drink it up. Remus. Let's give this a go."

He turned back to Rita, whose dictation pen was taking everything down. "Like last time, Remus has foregone taking the Wolfsbane Potion so we have an uncontaminated experiment. If my research is correct, that potion will cure Remus and when the moon rises in half-an-hour, nothing will happen to Mr. Lupin. He will remain as human as you and I." He grimaced. "There _is_ a small chance that it might just kill him."

Remus, having just finished swallowing the last of the potion, choked in the background, and managed to gasp out, " _Kill me?_ "

Gilderoy cast a jaundiced eye on the soon to be ex-werewolf. "Hey, I'm risking my entire reputation here!" he said sharply. "I am taking a huge risk. If this fails it will take me _years_ to repair the damage to my reputation." He raised an eyebrow, "All _you_ are risking is your life."

Sirius burst out laughing. "He's got you there, Moony!"

Scowling Remus stalked over to his chair and sat down. Moments later, he broke out into a sweat. "There's a bit of pain, all over, but nothing like transforming." He sat there grimacing occasionally and they could see his arms and legs jerk spasmodically.

An hour later, he was grinning like a mad man.

"Shall we go outside?" suggested Gilderoy, opening the cage door. "Sirius, just to help our guests' piece of mind, would you keep your wand on Mr. Lupin?"

They trooped outside into the backyard garden. For the first time since he was a child, Remus looked at the full moon as a person instead of a wolf. He looked at them wonderingly, "I can't feel him anymore. The wolf is gone. He's gone!" Tears started to flow down his cheeks. Sirius put away his wand and gathered his best friend in a hug. Both were oblivious to the pictures Bozo took.

Gilderoy turned to Rita and handed her a parchment, "Here are the full instructions on how to prepare the potion. Please make sure it's included your articles . . . perhaps in a day or so, after a suitable buildup?

"I'm sure the Ministry will be all over this in testing and verifying the potion. As you can see from the ingredients, it is quite expensive. House Black has set up a fund to supply the potion free to all werewolves. There is a limit to how much can be brewed at any one time, though, due to the extreme rarity of some of the ingredients. As a result, we will give the potions to those bitten within the last year and children under the age of 11 first, in age order from the youngest. I calculate it will take about ten years to cure everyone in the English Isles unless the Ministry gets fully behind it.

"Naturally, there will still be a need for everyone to learn _Homorphus Reparifarge,_ as there will still be a possibility of running into a wild or non-English werewolf for quite a few years." Rita nodded in understanding as her quill practically flew across her parchment as she made notes.

It was a most satisfying way to end the summer, Gilderoy thought.

(-_-)

 **Author's Note:** _In canon, the deeds claimed by Lockhart were stolen from the memories of Wizards and Witches, so they were all true events, although with much exaggeration and embellishment on his part. In_ Wanderings with Werewolves _he stole the experiences of a real Wizard/Witch who "cured" a werewolf with a spell while being attacked. Therefore, there really IS a spell to reverse a Werewolf transformation, it's just that in canon Lockhart can't remember the spell correctly and thus flubs it in either pronunciation or wand movements, or both. And he simply doesn't care, he was more interested in creating a story to sell. So, with Harry's determination and persistence he_ could _retrieve the correct incantation and wand movements from Lockhart's memory._


	26. Chapter 26 Muggle Solutions

**26\. Muggle Solutions**

Harry drifted slowly on his broom in the Accursed Mountains of Albania. Today he was wearing his sky-blue set of robes. While they made him stand out on the ground, in the air they made him that much more difficult to see. Combined with a disillusionment charm he was well neigh invisible.

Spring had arrived and for the last four weeks he had scoured the countryside for likely places Voldewhore might be hiding. Mounds of snow were still in the shadows, which helped reduce the areas he had to check. He knew from his history that the Nagini was already active and thus not still hibernating in a tunnel in the ground deep below the snow.

This particular valley was the last in a series of four he had searched so far this week, the last in April.

The locals, contrary to the reports he had heard from almost everyone, were quite friendly as long as you didn't violate any of their hospitality rules. For a foreigner it was simple to abide by those rules. They boiled down to one simple axiom — don't insult your host!

He had managed to build up a little good will in each village he visited by healing ailments that the local Healers found too difficult. His stock of potions had been steadily dwindling as a result — it was amazing the quantity of Skele-grow he had dispensed! Putting his magic into the cure helped its efficacy for the normally magic-less. To the Muggles, among whom were a rare number of Squibs, he just passed off the potions as the latest in healing miracles from the more modern industrial countries. Adding a mild _confundus_ insured that they would not think to mention this miracle cure to any outsider.

Based on what little he could understand from his halting conversations in the taverns, this particular valley seemed to have a pale of evil in it. Bad things happened to people who visited it. There were even rumours of a woman with child mysteriously vanishing in the dead of night just a night or two ago.

It was tedious work, doing this, they both had decided. It was surprisingly taxing slowly drifting through the countryside, quartering back and forth, disillusioned so the Muggles didn't see him, and trying to sense the evil that he knew was Voldewhore.

In his magically expanded pockets were the unbreakable jar and other implements and potions he intended to use to capture the blighter when he finally found him.

At least during the winter months he had been able to keep Gilderoy busy with the book tour and signings. Preliminary reports indicated that _Burrowing with a Basilisk_ had easily surpassed the sales of _Magical Me_. On the one hand, Gilderoy found that disappointing that the previous book had done so poorly by comparison. On the other, he was overjoyed at the increased sales and fans. And, in spite of the winter weather, the signings always had a line of fans out the door and down the street. Diagon Alley and Hogesmeade weren't the only places he had visited, there were the magical bookstores in Ireland, France, Germany, Spain, Italy, Portugal, Norway, Sweden, Denmark, Finland, Poland — not to mention the colonies, Canada, the US, Australia, South Africa, and India. Harry had never travelled outside the U.K. ever before, and it was quite an eye-opening experience.

He usually left each signing event with a wad of floo-call addresses in hand for an evening of entertainment, if he so chose. Sometimes it wasn't even a note but a room key to a local apartment or room at a tavern. And his supply Witch's knickers — an interesting replacement for a personal introduction card — took up a small trunk all by themselves. Perhaps he should open up a knickers shop?

Suffice to say, Gilderoy did not want for female companionship when he was interested. And that happened a lot more frequently than Harry was comfortable with admitting. That had lasted almost until March, which he spent recovering in Grimmauld Place and working on _Restraining_ _a Rat._ And finalizing his travel arrangements to Albania.

Before _Burrowing with a Basilisk_ , came out, though, Harry had been doing a bit of Death Eater clean-up, with limited, very limited, help from Gringotts.

"Ah, Ragnurk, my friend," Gilderoy had called out as he entered the now plush office the day after The Hogwarts' Express left King's Cross Station last September 1st. He was their number one client, by a huge margin. The Goblins knew how to play to the typical Wizard's vanity and they assumed from Gilderoy's reputation that he was exceedingly vain. And they spared no apparent expense in using that vanity to their advantage.

"I would like to buy up the debt owed by the following Wizards, if at all possible," he had said as he sat down. He had handed the list he had made to the Goblin. "They are in order of importance to me."

The Goblin perused the list, frowning.

"I then want to call the debt, immediately. In full." He had paused and then added, "My goal is to ruin them financially. If you know of a better way, please advise me."

The goblin studied the list. "This will take research. I will call you," he had said, finally.

Harry had left and Gilderoy had worked on _Restraining_ _a Rat_.

Three days later, he received an owl from Ragnurk. He had headed straight over.

"Antonin Dolohov, Herbert Mulciber, Augustus Rookwood, Caspur Travers, and Septimus Blishwick are all in Azkaban and their fortunes are somewhat vulnerable," said the Goblin. "Alecto and Amycus Carrow, Phineas Yaxley, Charis Avery, Edward Nott, Ted Jugson, Lycoris, Scabior, Selwyn, Crabbe, and Goyle are all in reasonable shape financially. Their biggest debtor was Malfoy, and you already settled those. Calling in their remaining debts would be an inconvenience at best, harming some while strengthening the others for a net gain for your plans of zed. Severus Snape has no outstanding debts."

"It would take time, a year or more, to manoeuvre the five Azkaban prisoners' estates into vulnerable positions where you could reduce them to paupers, but only if their friends didn't help them. All but Dolohov have Gringotts managing the House finances, so it is likely that the remaining family, cousins, would seek assistance from their richer friends so they would have something to inherit when their relative dies."

Harry sat thinking. Plan B, he had decided, was the only workable solution in the short term. "Keep a watch on their finances for me. Should any of them become vulnerable, strike against them as hard as you can. Even reducing just a few would help in the long term." He sighed. "In the meantime, can you provide me with the floo addresses for all the people on the list?"

"You may purchase the floo addresses from the Ministry for fifty galleons each."

"And the passwords?"

"Are unavailable."

"Purchase the floo addresses for me."

The Goblin made a note.

'Also, can you provide me with the locations of all their properties?"

"Those that are not set to unplottable."

"Do it."

Harry spent several days working on how to get access to the estates. If he could get to the estate, he could get the vault key. And the vault key would let him bankrupt the Death Eater family. The Goblins would simply tell the families they should have taken care that the key was safe.

Dolohov had no relatives, so that was the one to start with.

Gringotts managed his estate in his absence. Their investments of the small amount of galleons he had barely returned enough profit to maintain Manor and other buildings, but it _was_ sufficient profit. The Goblins' management contracts with the Wizards prevented them from deliberately and knowingly making bad investments, so Gilderoy couldn't use _that_ to his advantage.

Then he remembered some of the techniques used by the Muggles in the future War. With the Goblins' assistance, Harry purchased a petrol station chain behind several "blind" corporations as an investment. With that as a supply and a cover, one night in mid-September he and Dobby had transported three thousand gallons of the liquid two thousand feet over the Dolohov Manor protective enchantments and north of the building. It had been shrunk to a six-foot sphere and kept at near freezing to prevent it from simply evaporating when released.

Then they dropped it, simultaneously _finiting_ the sphere and the highly compressed balls of air scattered through it. The rapidly expanding air pockets sprayed the volatile substance over a wide area, intermixing the liquid thoroughly with the air both inside and outside the mass and creating a fine mist of petrol as it fell.

The creator of the Manor's protective enchantments had incorrectly assumed that the only liquids that freely fell from the sky like a rain were various forms of water and thus liquid from the sky did not need guarding against — after all, petrol didn't exist three hundred years ago when the enchantment designer lived. Any liquids other than rain, ice, or snow he knew of, such a Greek Fire, that might fall from above had to be encased in a shell, either physically or magically, for the trebuchet or Wizard to manipulate — and those he had guarded against. Being a liquid and non-magical, the protective enchantments on the manor allowed the mass to pass without hindrance.

The mist drifted down as the wind blew it over the estate, encompassing the house and much of the grounds around it.

Dobby, standing beside Harry, appeared to flicker in place as he popped to above the protective enchantments, and falling mist, hit the mist with a flame, and then reappeared beside Harry.

Even a mile away, Harry could feel the ground shake a moment later, followed by the shockwave of the explosion. A minute later, the heatwave from the blast, much cooler but still uncomfortably hot after traveling that distance, swept over them. Dobby stood beside him, mouth open in shock.

The mushroom cloud of smoke and burning debris from the building shot high up into the sky, far more impressive and scary than the _morsmordre_ cast by the Death Eaters.

"It's called a fuel-air bomb, and is devastatingly effective," Harry said, "as you can see. It is second only to nuclear bombs in destructive power." They watched as the mushroom-shaped cloud climbed higher into the sky, flames bursting from within the dark mass. "The Muggles will say it was a gas-leak explosion — has to be because that's the only thing that causes such a wide-spread flaming disaster. The Ministry will think it's some kind of Dark ritual gone wrong. And with the Dark Artefacts in the ruins contaminating the evidence, what other conclusion could they make? Especially without the presence of any _other_ magic in the remains of the explosion."

The explosion completely flattened the manor. The spells reinforcing the building simply were not up to the task of dealing with the equivalent of a thousand simultaneous superpowered _reductos_. The pressure wave created tore the Manor walls and insides to shreds, as well as sucking all the oxygen out of the house and crushing any underground rooms or dungeons. The magical blow back from the house protective enchantments overloading obliterated the Stone controlling them, blowing flaming pieces of the manor across a wide area. And when the Enchantment Control Stone failed, the remaining property enchantments collapsed, adding _their_ energy to the blast consuming the building.

Harry apparated to the edge of the former protective enchantments and looked across the burning lawn and roaring fire that was the Manor. He raised his wand. " _Accio Dolohov Vault Key_." Moments later, a golden key came flying from destruction. Harry let the glowing hot key fall to the ground before dosing it with water. Being Goblin made, it was indestructible. He dropped the key into his pocket and left for home. Because Gringotts never closed, he would have Dobby order the Goblins to sweep the vault for Goblin-made items and destroy any Dark Artefacts tonight. Once that was complete, he would have Dobby, Kreacher, and Bipsy transfer the remaining contents to one of House Black's empty properties. Then he would place the key in his special Vault Key box in the Study, labelled, of course. Dobby would periodically check the vault for any deposits from business investments Dolohov made before being sent to Azkaban — no reason to let it accumulate, now was there?

Later, he would have Kreacher and Dobby sell off the unwanted furniture, clothing, jewellery, and books previously stored in Dolohov's vault to second-hand shops across England and the continent. Eventually, he would transfer the remaining galleons to _The Gilderoy Lockhart Investment Fund._ The items he kept would go into the Lockhart Vault.

Through the rest of September and early October, he repeated the attack on the Mulciber, Rookwood, Travers, Blishwick, and another half dozen Pure-blood bigots' Manors — he didn't want to do too much all at once and leave an obvious trace to follow back to him. All except one of their keys joined Dolohov's in Gilderoy's Vault Key box for regular checks.

Travers was a bit trickier as his wife was still in residence, fortunately without any children. He had Dobby monitor her and when she was off visiting friends, they struck. It was their only daylight raid. After removing a hefty chunk of the galleons in the vault, he owled her vault key back to her. She could use the galleons remaining in the vault either to build a much smaller Manor or to provide herself with an apartment or small home somewhere in an area where he couldn't repeat his attack. He didn't care what she did. In either event, providing any financial assistance to other Death Eaters would be next to impossible — the Manor represented half of their net worth and the galleons he had stolen significantly reduced her ready cash. She wasn't nearly as poor as the Weasleys had been, but if she wasn't careful she would be.

The sudden outbreak of fires and explosions on confirmed Death Eater properties horrified the ministry. They were convinced Death Eaters were attempting highly dangerous Dark Magic to turn on the Wizarding World, hiding their work in supposedly empty Manors behind powerful protective enchantments. It was only a matter of time before they succeeded, the Ministry reasoned. Equalling horrifying, from their point of view, was that the Ministry could only find generic Dark Magic residue of whatever it was that destroyed the Manors so thoroughly. No records of anything that could cause such widespread destruction existed in the Ministry.

The Muggles were equally upset. Because the explosions harmed no Muggles nor damaged any Muggle property, the Muggle Minister acceded to Minister Bones' request for secrecy. The Muggle Minister buried the news under the Official Secrets Act. The locals were all told the light and noise was a military test or that it was a leaking gas tank explosion. That and few selective _obliviates_ of locals kept quiet the Muggle end of the problem.

The Death Eater's relatives, on the other hand, were demanding that the Ministry find the person or persons responsible for the destruction of their Manors. They vehemently denied that anyone had been involved in anything magically dangerous on those properties. However, since the properties were allegedly unoccupied, and had been for some time, they could provide no proof. Naturally, only the Pure-blood fanatics in the Ministry believed them.

Travers was the only exception. Instead of raging at the Ministry and demanding that they catch the culprits responsible for destroying her manor, she kept her mouth closed and simply said she had no idea what happened. Gilderoy clearly saw she was afraid to draw the attention of whomever it was that had so thoroughly destroyed her finances. The day after her questioning at the Ministry that left the Aurors quite vocally upset at her obstinacy, she received a two thousand-galleon owl delivery with a note saying simply "Thank you." _That_ reinforced her determination to remain quiet. Her continued evasions simply convinced the Ministry that their suspicions were correct.

"Good Morning, Madam Minister!" Harry/Gilderoy said as he entered her office on October 15th. "I'm so glad you could find the time for me!" Today he was dressed in a lilac ensemble and was, as always, perfectly coiffed.

"I always have time for you, Gil." She returned his wide smile with one of her own. Her Goblin contacts had told her Lockhart was the richest Wizard on the planet. If you separated House Lockhart from House Slytherin, Lockhart was the richest in the U.K. — due to the Basilisk ingredient sales they told her — followed by House Black. As the acknowledged regent for House Potter, even though Sirius was the Boy-Who-Lived's godfather, he took the third position as well.

As an interesting aside, the Lestranges were no longer on the top fifty list. What had happened to their fortune was a mystery, and the Goblins refused to say if they knew anything. That four of the other seven Azkaban prisoners had also disappeared from the Goblin's list of the richest Houses and individuals in the U.K. was also an intriguing bit of news — the destruction of their Manors was a substantial blow to their finances, true, but such a loss shouldn't have wiped them out completely. What had happened to their vaults?

The two sat on the couch and chair to one side of her office, sipping tea. "I've been reading about these mysterious explosions. Dreadful business, that," Gilderoy said. He spent the next fifteen minutes telling her about his adventures in fighting Dark Wizards that he had not yet put into any book. All were real stories from the future War Harry had fought. That she, as head of the D.M.L.E. had never heard of any of these duels, made her highly doubtful of their reality. But she did wonder why the truth spell on the couch failed to trigger at the clear falsehoods.

When her smile became a bit fixed, he knew he had worn out his welcome, as he had planned. Once more, he had convinced her he was an empty-headed braggart with delusions of competence and authority. But a very _rich_ empty-headed braggart with delusions of competence and authority. And his control of the Wizengamot gave him political clout no one else could match, especially with both Malfoy and Dumbledore effectively removed from the scene. That made him simply too powerful to offend with an interruption.

He smiled at her broadly, "Oh, I almost forgot, the reason I came to visit today is that I need to visit Azkaban once more. While Bellatrix Lestrange neé Black is no longer in residence . . . ," He wasn't about to lie and say she was dead in case the Minister had a truth detection spell in the room. Let her assume he was being polite about the Witch's death. ". . . I should probably check on the states of her husband and his brother. They _are_ related family, now, much as I regret it." No one suspected that he had destroyed the Lestrange Manor, its destruction hadn't been nearly as flashy as the others — merely a fire that had gutted the unplottable building hidden behind its protective enchantments in the early morning hours before anyone normally woke.

And now he needed to take care of the Lestrange brothers. He wanted to leave Belladonna in the clear should they escape in the future or magic react to their still being alive in the event the girl ever decide to marry.

This time, Minister Bones did not accompany him on his little trip to hell-on-Earth, she just wrote out a pass for him to show the guards and Warden.

"Thank you so much for your assistance, Amelia," he said, taking the parchment from her and starting towards the door. He had just put his hand on the doorknob when he said, "Oh, I was thinking about how Barty Crouch, Junior, managed to escape Azkaban, and it occurred to me that there was a lesson there — with _help_ , _anyone_ can escape Azkaban." Reluctantly, the Minister nodded her agreement. He could feel her emotions spike, wondering what little problem he was about to drop in her lap this time.

"So, I thought, why not put a spell on each Death Eater sentenced to Azkaban that is tied to the containment enchantments. Should a Death Eater leave without someone, say, an Unspeakable, removing that spell, he, or she, would die when they are more than a mile from the prison enchantments. Perhaps you could make it a tattoo? I'm sure the Unspeakables can come up with a clever idea. That way, you never, ever, have to worry about a breakout. And, if you want to release someone for any reason, you simply remove the spell with a counter spell that requires the presence of an Unspeakable."

He nodded his head to her, and then left her office with a parchment authorizing his visit to the desolate island.

As he had the last time he visited Azkaban, he used _confundo_ and _stupify_ to hide his actions from his escort. An _obliviate_ on the both prisoners removed the memory of him drawing runes on their heads that slowly drained their magic into the environment around them. No one would see the runes under their hair. In a month, maybe two, both would die from magical exhaustion and the terrible conditions that their magic could no longer assist them in surviving. The runes, being nearly invisible and kept in place by their own magic, would disappear entirely after their deaths.

His visit on October 22nd to Little Hangleton took under an hour. Planning the trip took much thought and several days. At first, he had planned simply to remove the bones. But then he realized that if Voldy checked beforehand and discovered no bones he might choose another solution to getting a body. One Harry might not be able to interrupt or sabotage. If Harry left the bones, then at least he had a fallback position should he fail to catch the bastard in Albania.

But he didn't want to leave the bones as-is, he had to do _something_. He finally settled on a wicked compromise, one worthy of a Marauder prank. Every bone in the graveyard with a patrilineal link to Riddle he removed and replaced with engorged squirrel bones. Unfortunately, the "bone of the father" spell would fail if he simply stopped at that point. So, throughout each bone he melded a tiny amount of powder of bone from Tom Riddle's father. If a Voldewhore follower cast the spell requiring bone of the father, the bone brought to surface would contain no more than a very tiny fraction of his father, the rest would be squirrel. What came out of the cauldron after the ritual should be rather interesting. And definitely not very snake-like.

The rest of October he spent working on the "I was _imperio'ed_!" Death Eaters. Those were much tougher to come up with a good plan. The families were difficult because there always seemed to be someone at home. It was worse for those with house-elves, as even when all the family members were gone, that still left the house-elves.

He had to strike those families with multiple house-elves from his list. One always remained behind and there would be no way to evacuate or warn the little guy beforehand. The others, most being in full residence, became a problem of logistics — waiting for a moment when no one was home. That left the bachelors, Snape and Yaxley. Snape was never home, which was great, but his home was in a Muggle neighbourhood and a fuel-air bomb would take out most of the town. But he was also gone for ten months of the year. That gave Harry time to work on a solution for breaking the protective enchantments.

After raiding the Lestranges and the vaults of the others, Harry/Gilderoy had a Dark Magic library second only to House Black, which he also thoroughly examined. A curse-breakers toolkit, with the owner's instructions and field notes was an invaluable find.

He wanted the Carrows as his next target, but Dobby didn't raid them until almost February. On consideration, Harry had decided that leaving them alive would be a mistake. Their twins, Flora and Hestia, fortunately, were Firsties this year and not home. He didn't know if their mother was Alecto or the Witch married to Amycus. In either case, he only had to wait until Amycus' wife and their lone house-elf left the Manor that the brother and sister shared. Based on what he remembered of their ineptitude in the Final War, neither were sufficiently skilled or alert to notice Dobby's activities until it was far too late. Fortunately, Dobby could handle the raid by himself. The girls would need something to live on, so Dobby would be leaving the key behind. The Goblins later confirmed that the inheritors of the estate were the two girls and their mother — not Alecto — at the reading of the Will.

Crabbe and Goyle were easy targets. They each had a house-elf, so it was a repeat of Dolohov's Manor — wait until everyone except Crabbe, or Goyle, the Seniors, of course, were gone and the house-elf went shopping. Their vaults were depressingly low in galleons, so he took everything else. Replacing their Manors with new was out of the question without borrowing serious amounts of galleons. Ragnurk arranged for him to loan the widows the galleons they needed, leaving them clearly in debt to House Black and having to follow House Black's lead in the Wizengamot. Should Voldewhore return, Harry could always call in the debt and make Voldy spend his precious funds keeping them off the streets. Or increase dissension in the ranks by forcing them to beg their way into another Death Eater's home.

In the meantime, he drastically reduced the ranks of rich Death Eaters, not to mention eliminating many of them with extreme prejudice, as the spy novels liked to say. The Death Eater children in Hogwarts began to understand what it felt like to be on the losing side of a guerrilla-style war, and realizing they faced a future of belonging to the working-class instead of ordering the working-class around. Headmistress McGonagall's zero-tolerance of bullying also made them far more circumspect in their attitudes towards those they felt were their inferiors. The fact that Sirius made no secret that he would black-ball from employment anyone who didn't toe the line of tolerance certainly helped to make Hogwarts a fun experience for anyone who wasn't a Pure-blood bigot.

The book release in November left Harry/Gilderoy far too busy dealing with book signings and appearances to pay attention to the Death Eaters for several months. Things slowed down in late January and began to taper off in February. That was when he began to work earnestly on where in Albania he might find Voldy and _how_ he could find him.

The solution for Snape's home was simple. Time consuming, but simple. He apparated nearby, then spent the day wandering around outside of the house's protective enchantments, locating the likely places an Enchantment Anchor Stone might be hidden. As he found each one, he placed two stones carved with runes that acted as magical power leaches. When he was done, the power leaches would drain magic from the Enchantment Anchors faster than they could charge. In a week or so, he could just walk up to the house without tripping the protective enchantments. He only had to look out for traps. And he planned to take care of those the same way, dropping power leaches at potential trouble spots and coming back later. He wished he'd found that Cursebreaker Kit in his first life.

Using power leaches on the other Death Eater's homes wouldn't work in any place with regular residents. The Enchantment Control Stone would warn the inhabitants that something was wrong long before the power leaches were close to compromising the protective enchantments. In this case, though, not only wasn't the owner not in residence, he was in another country — Scotland! He wouldn't be checking back here until Christmas at the earliest. With luck, he wouldn't discover his home was gone until next summer.

And while Snape had settled down at Hogwarts, he was still a Death Eater. Minnie had told him if he didn't shape up, she'd fire him. The current spate of attacks on Death Eaters had him feeling that staying at Hogwarts was a much safer ploy than being out in the Wizarding World taking his chances that the vigilante might catch him unawares. So, he minded his p's and q's and actually taught Potions in a fair-minded manner. Whoever would have thought _that_ would happen — Snape being fair!

While he waited for the power leaches to do their job, he tackled Yaxley.

Yaxley lived in a large Manor in the country and had a single house-elf. The man had a low-level job at the Ministry and kept mostly to himself. As a result, the manor was empty except for the house-elf every day from morning until evening. It was simply a matter of waiting for the house-elf to go shopping.

Harry opened a new vault. He would need to move quickly when he got Yaxley's vault key.

In the meantime, Gilderoy had worked on the book-signings for _Burrowing with a Basilisk_ and editing _Restraining_ _a Rat._

Their opportunity appeared in mid-December. Dobby POPed into his study, "Wiksy is shopping," he said.

"Excellent, Dobby, you know what to do, I'll meet you there to get the key."

Harry put away his quill and carefully marked his place. He changed to his "stealth" robes — a more smart, fashionable, and perfectly tailored copy of the Muggle military camouflage combat uniform — and apparated to his pre-scouted lookout point in time to see a fireball rising into the sky. Dobby joined him almost immediately. He waited only long enough for the flaming debris to stop falling before apparating closer and _Accio_ 'ing the vault key.

Unfortunately, nothing happened. He tried a second time, and still nothing. Damn. The Wizard had figured out what he was doing and kept his vault key with him at all times.

He sighed. "Okay, Dobby, go back to whatever you were doing."

Well, there was still a chance he might get Yaxley.

Wiksy, the Wizard's house-elf, would immediately feel the protective enchantments' catastrophic disappearance and try to contact her Master to tell him the Manor was under attack. Yaxley was at the Ministry, so she would have to POP to the Atrium and then _run_ through the building to find him. The Ministry spells would prevent her from using her elf-magic to magically POP to her master. That would take about ten minutes — passing security and running down the stairs to his office, if she knew where it was. If she didn't know, it would take a bit longer as she tried to get to him — knowing where someone is spatially doesn't tell you how to _get_ to them in the maze that was the Ministry. Her explaining and him racing back to the atrium would take another ten minutes, maybe longer if he took the elevator. He'd waste a few minutes trying the floo, then he would apparate.

If Harry were really, really lucky, the bastard would apparate into what he thought was a safe spot in his Manor. Instead, he would be in the middle of the inferno now raging where the Manor had stood. The heat would kill him before he even knew he was on fire. If the arse was smart, he would apparate in at a distance and observe what was happening — what idiot would return to a home he knew an enemy occupied it and was potentially waiting in ambush?

Harry never detected an incoming apparition or Yaxley's presence.

Later, discrete inquires revealed that no one had seen Yaxley since that day he had rushed out of the Ministry. Harry knew he wasn't dead, the Goblins refused to release his estate. Harry figured the Wizard had gone to ground and was hiding in some Death Eater safe house Harry had never found in the future. Harry had already cleared out and booby-trapped the ones he knew of, with alert enchantments to warn him if anyone appeared at one.

A week after the Yaxley job, the power traps at Snape's home had drained the Enchantment Stones to the point of uselessness.

Harry looked around the Snape's sitting room. It was pretty pathetic. The furniture was old and worn, not even a second-hand shop would take it. It would, however, make good fuel for a nice bonfire. Harry carefully examined every room using the detection spells in the Curse-breaker's kit looking for hidden items. The only thing of note was a staircase behind a bookshelf that led to Snape's potion workshop. That held many rare and expensive ingredients. This was where Snape spent his income, stockpiling ingredients against future needs. Or, perhaps, where most of Hogwarts' Potion Budget went. Harry wouldn't put it past Snape to siphon off as much of the budget for his personal projects as he could get away with stealing.

Harry stripped the workshop down to the walls. The only other place Harry found of note was a safe hidden in the master bedroom filled with galleons. Harry didn't take the time to count, but from the size of the stack, compared to others he had seen, there should be around fifty thousand galleons, maybe more. Probably taken from his Death Eater victims in the first war because his salary wasn't enough to create such a stockpile in twenty years, never mind twelve, even if he didn't spend _any_ of it.

It didn't matter because he took it all anyway. There was no vault key. He didn't expect there to be. No one had ever accused Snape of being stupid. If Snape had one, he probably kept it with him at Hogwarts.

Being a Muggle residence, the house was wired for electricity, even if Snape never used it. With a flick of his wand, Harry bypassed the gauge and made it look as if Snape were pirating electricity. Harry returned to the fuse box in the basement below the kitchen. He had several shrunken pieces of furniture and boxes of miscellaneous paper from upstairs with him. He restored the furniture and placed it against the wall beside the fuse box, with the boxes of paper directly below it and leaning against the furniture. He rearranged the rest of the loose contents of the Muggle basement to facilitate his plan. Then he cast _incendio_ into the fuse box. The old-fashioned cloth-wrapped wires caught fire immediately, and Harry made sure some of the burning pieces of cloth fell onto the papers below. In moments, with the help of another _incendio,_ everything in the basement was nicely burning. He retreated up the stairs and into the backyard, where he waited until he could see flames coming up the stairs. Then he apparated home.

He knew some Muggle would report the fire and the firemen would protect the nearby houses as Snape's place burnt. The dusty and dry condition of the house and its contents guaranteed that by the time the firemen arrived the place would be fully involved, and then burnt to the ground. The investigators, naturally, would conclude it started in the fusebox due to the old wiring and Snape's slipshod method of stealing the electricity. Arson would never be suspected. Except by Snape, that is. Harry knew he would immediately note the missing ingredients that should have fuelled a much more intense and explosive fire as soon as he returned to the place.

Not to mention the lack of anyone finding what amounted to over a ton and a half of gold coins.

Albus' funeral was during the Ides of March. The Wizarding world, and the British especially, wasted a good amount of time, in Harry's opinion, mourning their Hero, and remembering his great accomplishments.

Thus, it was that today, April 28th, he was drifting at tree-height on his broom in a remote valley in the Accursed Mountains of Albania, eyes half closed, trying to detect that indefinite loathsome trace of hate that was Voldewore. Disillusioned and covered with a Notice-Me-Not charm so that neither Muggles nor Wizards might detect him he moved back and forth across the valley.

He had covered almost three-quarters of the valley and it was beginning to get dark. He wouldn't finish this tonight; he would have to come back tomorrow. He sighed. When he finished this leg of the sweep, he would land and apparate back to the village.

Trusting his instincts had saved his life more times than he could count in the Final War. So, when the urge to speed up abruptly hit him, he did so. The powerful cutting curse sliced off the back two-thirds of his broom's bristles instead of slamming into his side from underneath.

The broom's integrity destroyed, it began to plummet, wildly jerking left, right, up, and down according to Harry's slightest movement. While this made it difficult for Harry to control his fall, it made it impossible for his assailant to hit him again. Spotting a small clearing created by a fallen tree, Harry apparated there, leaving the broom to drop down.

He landed roughly, tumbling. He sprang to his feet and recast his disillusionment spell. How his attacker had spotted him he didn't know, and he wasn't going to take unnecessary chances

He hadn't the faintest idea where his attacker was, but that it was a Voldewhore follower was certain. He held himself still, listening. He had to stay. If he left, they would leave knowing he was in pursuit and he wouldn't find them.

" _Point Me Voldemort_ ," Harry whispered. His wand spun, and then indicated to Harry's left. He turned and carefully made his way. He silenced his footsteps and his clothes and crept carefully through the bushes and debris littering the edges of the clearing.

They saw through each other's disillusionment spell almost simultaneously. It was Yaxley! He must have survived and fled, figuring that finding his lost Master was his only chance at surviving whomever was destroying the former Death Eaters.

Both launched vicious attacks. Harry sent _reductos_ and _langlocks_ in almost a continuous stream, dodging the incoming spells from Yaxley rather than using a shield. Yaxley preferred _diffindo, defodio, crucio, expulso_ , and other Dark curses. Neither could make any headway, it seemed. Suddenly, something slammed into Harry from the side. It felt like the entire inside of his head caught fire. It wasn't _crucio_ , though. His head seemed to be splitting in half, everywhere he looked he saw two. Yaxley pressed his advantage, casting faster. Harry threw up a _protego_ as he tried to recover, dodging desperately to avoid whatever the other Death Eater might send at him. It didn't work. He tripped over a branch he thought was farther to his left and as he fell he saw another spell coming from the side. He screamed the activation phrase for his emergency portkey just as the spell hit him.


	27. Chapter 27 Mad-Eye

**27\. Mad-Eye**

Garry woke to a bouncing bed and a squealing little girl — "Get up! Get Up! Get up!" she chanted, each one accompanied by a bounce. "Today we visit Harry! Get up! Get Up!"

Garry's head felt as if it were splitting and the bouncing was making him nauseous. "STOP!"

The bouncing and chanting stopped. "Uncle Gil?" came the childish voice.

He slowly cracked one eyelid open and blearily looked at the excited black-haired girl. It was Bell, two of her, actually. The wide grin splitting her face was slowly subsiding, turning to a concerned frown, "Uncle Gil?" she repeated.

He groaned and raised his hand to his forehead, but hit himself in the face instead. Bell giggled. "G-get S-s-sir-i-us," he said awkwardly.

She cocked her head sideways, "But, Uncle Gil, I'm not Sirius, he's upstairs."

Garry groaned; it hurt too much for this to be funny. "Si-ck," he said, "Head hurts. Sirius."

Her eyes grew wide and she vanished off the bed at a dead run. He could hear her yelling before she even left the bedroom, "SIRIUS! UNCLE GIL'S REALLY SICK!" Well, at least he knew she had good lungs. She had been quite quiet last summer. The change was a great improvement. Exposure to the twins and gang had been good to her. Not to mention Nymie, Remus, and Sirius during the school year.

Later, after Sirius helped him drink headache and nausea potions, he felt well enough to sit up. "Thanks, Sirius," he said. He was still seeing double, but not as badly as before — the doubles were almost on top of each other, only offset by an inch or so. His muscle coordination was crap, though.

"Maybe we should take you to St. Mungos?" Sirius suggested. "This sounds like the way you were last May. You were in for a full month, what between the curse duel you fought and all. Maybe you're having a relapse."

Last May? _Last May_? Harry knew he wasn't going to like the answer to his next question. He closed his eyes and sighed. "What month is it?"

"November," piped up Bell from behind Sirius and Remus.

Another heartfelt sigh. "Sirius, the last thing I remember is a duel in Albania and emergency portkeying here."

By now Sirius, Remus, Ted, Andromeda, and a wide-eyed Bell surrounded his bed.

"Well," said Sirius slowly, as the other adults exchanged worried looks.

"That's a deep subject, Sirius, think you can handle it?" Harry said drily.

They gave him a dumbfounded look. Bell giggled.

His brain was starting to catch up. He frowned. "Bell said something about seeing Harry?"

Sirius scowled heavily, as did most everyone except Bell. She started bouncing happily. "Yeah, today's the First Task."

"Bloody Hell," whispered Garry. "Tri-Wizard Tournament?" They nodded. "And Harry is in it?"

"Yes," said Sirius.

Of _course_ he was.

"Does he know he faces a dragon?"

Sirius frowned, "Yes, you told him that the day after we found out. You had a nightmare the night he floo-called us about his name being pulled from the Goblet of Fire." He looked at Remus. "You woke us up with your screaming. You told us that you had a vision that Harry would face a Hungarian Horntail Dragon. That he would outfly it using his Firebolt but receive an injury on his shoulder from the dragon's tail hitting him." Sirius grinned, "He's been practicing _accio_ and a body shield charm every day since then. And flying, I'd wager. And I smuggled him a fire protection potion, just in case." He shook his head ruefully. "He had me send him three more; he said it wasn't fair that only he had that protection." He smiled to himself, "That's Lily, for sure."

Garry relaxed a bit, thanking Merlin for small favours. At least it wasn't a total cockup. And now that Sirius had told him, he vaguely remembered the incident.

Of course, this year was the Tri-Wizard. The Ministry had been working on that for years. Losing Crouch and Dumbledore wouldn't have derailed those plans. He had hoped that Harry might be spared the whole Tri-Wizard thing, but apparently not. Thank Merlin nothing he had done had changed the planned Champion trials — at least he hoped not.

"Okay, I seem to have amnesia from last May until right now." And his coordination was way off. He hoped he wouldn't meet any Death Eaters. Death Eaters? Oh, Merlin, Moody!

While the others were exchanging alarmed looks and Bell looked puzzled, Garry grabbed Sirius' arm. "Mad-eye! Is Mad-eye the D.A.D.A. professor?"

"Yeeesss," Sirius said slowly, "Is that a problem?"

"How well do you know Mad-eye?"

Sirius traded looks with Remus, "Not that well. I trained with him in the Aurors, but that was fourteen years ago. Of the family, Nymie knows him best."

"Do you know what he puts in his hipflask to drink?" Garry asked urgently.

Sirius shrugged, "Water?"

Garry closed his eyes again, thinking. "Sirius, get Nymie. Ask her if she knows what he keeps in his flask."

Remus asked, "Why, Gil? He's an Auror. He's paranoid, yes, but he is the best Auror out there."

Garry took a deep breath. "Nobody says a word, okay?" He looked around as they hesitantly nodded. The others had forgotten Bell, but he could see her nodding in the background as well. He winked at her. She was still under the oath that no one else knew about, so he was unconcerned at her presence.

"I think Mad-eye is a polyjuiced Death Eater."

They all objected.

He waited for them to quiet down. "Listen to me on this. I was right about the Dragons, wasn't I?" He paused a moment, then continued. "Sirius, get Nymie. Ask her what he drinks. If she doesn't know we'll have to go with water." He looked at Bell. Or perhaps not. Using one of her hairs in polyjuice and swapping that might be much more entertaining, and quickly prove Garry's point. No, he decided upon reflection, the polyjuice would taste different. The Death Eater would immediately know something was wrong and try to escape. Although fighting while the potion change him would be next to impossible. But still, it would leave him in full control of himself once he recovered. And as a little girl, no one would take his duelling talents seriously. He might slip away into the crowd.

"Go, Sirius," he ordered. "This is important!" Reluctantly, the older Wizard left the room.

Garry looked at the others. "Give me a minute to get dressed and I'll meet you all in the kitchen for breakfast." He made a move to get out of bed.

"Dining room," said Remus. "Breakfast is in the dining room."

Garry nodded and waved them all to leave.

Getting out of bed was a chore. It was his first day as Harry/Gilderoy all over again. Fortunately, today's clothes were already laid out for him. When he saw the curlers in his hair, he sighed heavily. He had forgotten about putting them in last night, but he did want to look his best today. It would be the first time in several months that he was in public in a large crowd and he had his image to maintain.

Usually let Gilderoy run the morning prep while he planned the day. This morning he did everything without really thinking about it while he still worked out what he would have to do today.

It took him far longer than it should, but eventually he made his stumbling way to the dining room. There was a sideboard set up cafeteria-style; the others had already started eating. The second time he dropped his plate Andy came over and helped. It was humiliating, but no worse than it had been in St. Mungos.

Smiling broadly and muttering thanks, he sat just as Sirius came bursting in from the sitting room. "She says it's water," he said breathlessly.

"Excellent!"

"Sirius, is Nymie at Hogwarts? Or on another job."

"She was at the Ministry."

"Contact Minister Bones and tell her you and I would consider it a _great_ favour if she were to assign Nymie to assist Mad-eye today, to shadow him all day as a learning experience — she's still a trainee. No getting sent off to do other tasks by anyone, including Mad-eye. She's to keep her wand at hand. If he asks why, she can say, 'Constant Vigilance!' and cite the many visitors at Hogwarts as being the perfect opportunity for a Death Eater to sneak in unsuspected. Tell her it's _vital_! We can't explain just yet, but I'll owe them both a favour if she does this. Tell Minister Bones, remember Quirrell. Put on your Wizenmaggots robes so she'll know you're serious, Sirius." Sirius nodded, grinning at the word play, and hurried out. Several minutes later, they heard him use the floo.

Garry concentrated on eating without stabbing himself with his knife or fork. His results were mixed, but left Bell in giggles and the other three adults with worried frowns.

Shortly after Kreacher cleared the table, except for one plate of food under a stasis charm for Sirius, he returned.

"Okay. Done. She's mighty curious, but willing to cooperate. It's your show." He sat at his plate and started to eat.

Garry took a careful sip of his tea, holding it with both hands. His coordination was improving by leaps and bounds, but he knew it would take several days before he was in any shape to have a duel. He would have to carefully hide that, though, he couldn't let his admiring public know he was under the weather.

"What's up?" Sirius mumbled around a mouthful of food. Bell giggled, and shaking a finger at him with the other hand on her hip, said sternly, "No talking with your mouth full!"

"I think you need to go to your room for a few minutes, Bell," said Andromeda. She clearly wanted Bell not to hear the discussion.

"It's okay," Garry waved his hand, "She can listen in, she won't tell anyone what we talk about here, will you Bell?"

She shook her head, eyes wide at the show of confidence.

Andromeda and Ted frowned, but didn't object farther.

Garry sighed. "I believe that Mad-eye has been replaced by a Death Eater taking polyjuice."

"Why?" came the obvious question from Remus. "And why now instead of months ago?"

Garry looked down a moment. "How did Harry's name get into the Goblet of Fire?" he asked. The consensus was nobody knew. He nodded. "Harry didn't enter his own name; there was an age-line around the Goblet, right?"

"Among other things," Sirius replied.

He looked them all in the eye, one at a time. "I know Harry would never have submitted his name, especially after Hermione told him what happened to past Champions. He's brash, but not terminally stupid. And he would only risk his life if someone _else_ was in danger. And the prize money? Hah! He has more than that as pocket change in the summers."

They exchanged looks, but overall agreed with him.

"It took a powerful Wizard to not only get around the protections, but to _confudo_ the Goblet into _allowing_ a fourth name to appear. That leaves out any but the adults — Harry certainly couldn't have done it. While it's _possible_ one of the regular professors was suborned, it is highly unlikely — one of the other professors would have noticed his or her inconsistencies in behaviour. Not to mention the difficulty in getting _to_ one of them. So, of the adults, the only new ones are Mad-eye and the two visiting Heads from the other schools. I doubt the heads of the other schools because of the difficulty in getting to them, and their students would notice, as well. And the Death Eater connections on the continent are much more nebulous and reluctant to work on anything but a sure thing."

He looked over at Sirius. "Yes, Snape and Karkaroff are Death Eaters, but both have much to lose if Voldewhore comes back, too much to want him to return. Karkaroff because Voldy will kill him, and Snape, well, Snape has his reasons.

"Mad-eye, though, he's the unknown. Nobody at Hogwarts knows him well enough to notice any mistakes he might make in his performance."

He looked over to Remus, "And wasn't there something about him thinking he was being attacked just before school started?"

Remus nodded.

"The _perfect_ cover for a substitution. They attack and subdue him, pull out a hair, and drop it in Polyjuice. Then when the Aurors show up, act paranoid and confused. Later, interrogate the real Mad-eye using veritaserum on everything he knows. He goes to Hogwarts in Mad-eye's place and no one suspects a thing."

He looked around at them. "He's in the perfect position to manipulate everyone to get the desired outcome. Bloody Hell, I bet McGonagall selected him as one of the guards to watch the Goblet that night! He's a professor, so getting an assignment with Harry's name written on it is a no brainer. Three seconds in the dead of night when no one else is even _on_ the Ground Floor, he casts a _confudus_ on the goblet and drops the scrap of paper into the Goblet, and Bob's your uncle! I mean, who would suspect the renowned Mad-eye Moody of forcing Harry Potter, someone he has _never_ previously met, into the Tournament?

"And, perhaps even worse, the Death Eaters who organized this now know _every_ D.M.L.E. secret, and quite a bit more in the Ministry — not to mention every security detail about the Tournament — and no one suspects!"

They exchanged appalled looks.

"The problem is proving it." He sighed. "Here's the plan I have so far. Andromeda, Ted, you keep an eye on little Miss Mischief here," he pointed at Bell, who assumed a look of "Who? Me?" innocence. "Remus, Sirius, Nymie, and I will tackle Mad-eye." He looked at the Werewolf, "Remus, get a flask similar to Mad-eye's except with a Sleeping Draught in it. When you see him pull out his flask, perform the switching charm on the contents after he takes a drink." He looked at the others, "Then we check the contents of Remus' flask. If, as I suspect, we smell polyjuice, then we know we have Death Eater. And once again the illustrious Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defence League, six-time winner of _Witch Weekly's_ Most-Charming-Smile Award, Hogwarts' beloved Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor, Slayer of Basilisks, and detector of Dark Wizards has saved the day!" He flashed them all one of his toothy confident smiles. He was slightly disappointed to see his audience wasn't impressed. He cleared his throat, "If we don't, then we have pulled the greatest prank on Mad-eye anyone has every seen!" Better it thought a prank than that Gary wasn't the perfect Wizard that he was.

Nobody laughed.

"If he detects the switch, stun him immediately. Otherwise, we wait until we can catch him unawares in a relatively open space, and stun him. And then we wait for the polyjuice to wear off."

He looked around them again. "If I'm wrong, I'll make apologizes about the prank all around. Nymie will be fine because Bones agreed to let her follow my orders. We'll pay a few fines, and then we'll begin to go through the school looking for the Death Eater. It shouldn't be that hard. With Snape's help we can find the culprit in a few hours, at most." He grimaced, "If he doesn't flee when he hears what happened with Moody."

He looked back at Sirius. "This is why Nymie is so important. She'll be following him all day, so he shouldn't be expecting her to stun him. If he does, then while he's dueling with her, the rest of us will take him down.

"You have to make sure she understands that if he goes to take a sip from his flask and stops, _for any reason_ , stun him immediately."

He scanned their faces. "Any thoughts? Questions?"

They decided the best time to do it was when he likely would be most distracted, when Harry was taking his turn. With that settled, they trooped into the sitting room and floo'd to _The Three Broomsticks_.

While they walked up to Hogwarts Sirius tried to fill Garry in on what had happened that summer. Because Garry was still a bit unsteady on his feet, Sirius still thought he should go to St. Mungos. Garry simply said, "This is far too important. I can go afterwards if necessary."

Garry was relieved to find out that he had not spilled any secrets over the summer. He had mentioned being in Albania for research and that he had run afoul of an attack, but professed to not know the reason why. Once he recovered, he had devoted himself to finishing _Restraining_ _a Rat_ , which now had a release date of this spring. And annoying the hell out of both Remus and Sirius with his incessant self-aggrandizing.

He had had his family visit for a week at Grimmauld Place just to meet Harry Potter and Belladonna. Sirius was rather surprised at the interest Harry had taken in the little girl, making sure she was happy and doing well in her new home. Her taking to pranking had endeared her the hearts of both Sirius and Remus. The Tonks weren't nearly as impressed with the pranking but agreed that the girl was a joy to behold, although she did have a temper. Harry adored her, and she adored him in turn. Harry, Hermione, Susan, Hannah, Luna, and Neville had become quite the troop.

That meant his family had met Hermione, Luna, Neville, Susan, Hannah, Ginny, Ron, Fred, and George when they came over for the Wednesday Movie Matinees, which they had resumed as soon as summer started. The Pure-bloods, it seemed, had dearly missed seeing the movies. And Bell had discovered Disney cartoons and become an instant fan. Ron came just to see the movies and for the free food. He mostly stayed away from Harry and Hermione, but at least was cordial.

Bell had apparently overheard the twins talking with Harry or Hermione about their telly project and decided she wanted a home theatre at Grimmauld Place. Fred and George had learnt that having a seven-year-old eagerly nagging them daily, if not hourly — "Is it done yet? Is it done yet?" — provided a great incentive. They finished their working prototypes of a magic-resistant VCR and telly early in the summer. Bell now watched at least one movie a day — the movies became her reward for doing her tutors' assignments, which she blew through like a tornado. Everyone except Garry had declared her a hidden genius. Garry knew the truth — that she was merely relearning what she already knew through muscle memory — he simply said she was a hard worker.

The Play Room on the Second Floor was now the Movie Room. And Sirius and Remus were helping the twins develop a business plan for introducing both items to the Wizarding World. They hoped to open their first store in Diagon Alley the coming summer. And that was also why Remus wasn't still teaching the D.A.D.A., he was too busy working on Investment Fund projects to return to Hogwarts.

Whatever had happened, despite falling back into his old self-aggrandizing habits, at least Garry had kept his secrets. The only comment that worried Garry was the one Sirius made about being relieved that the "other" Gilderoy was back.

If that were the only complaint Garry heard, he would be happy.

They arrived mid-morning. After saying hello to Headmistress McGonagall, they returned to the Entry Way to admire the Founder's Artefacts. Garry was pleased to see the display case for them prominently placed, with large plaques describing each of the items and mentioning Gilderoy's part in their recovery. His name _could_ have been larger in the individual plaques, he decided, but the single large plaque announcing that it was only thanks to Gilderoy Lockhart that these items were on display was sufficient, he concluded, nodding his satisfaction. When no one was looking he added a few wards of his own to the case to prevent any pilferage. And to make his picture a bit more central to the display with a special spell that drew people's eyes to his portrait.

They met Harry and Hermione after his History of Magic class. The two students had no other classes before lunch, so they wandered through the Castle showing Bell some of its more interesting features — secret passages and hidden rooms, mainly. Naturally, his upcoming challenge kept the little Wizard quite distracted and he spent most of the time in a daze, following wherever Hermione led him by the hand. It was while they were showing Bell the hidden Come-and-Go Room that Garry Lockhart stopped dead in the middle of the room and face-palmed himself. "What an idiot I am," he said. Sirius, of course, added, "Couldn't have said it better myself."

Garry turned to Harry and said, "Harry, do you have the map?"

"Map?"

"You know, _the map_?"

Harry screwed up face, then said, "Oh, _that_ map! No. It's in my trunk."

The others, except Sirius and Remus, were looking at them as if they were mad.

"You're right, Gil," Sirius said, grinning while Remus was chuckling beside him, "You _are_ an idiot."

"Harry, this is very important, but I need you to get the map _right now_." Lockhart concentrated and a door appeared in one wall of the Come-and-Go Room. He pointed, "That should take you straight to your Common Room and back. There's a _Notice-Me-Not_ on it for everyone in the Common Room but you. Hurry!"

A few minutes, later Harry returned with the parchment. And moments later, they were crowded around the open Marauder's Map. "There!" the blonde-haired Wizard said, as he pointed, "The D.A.D.A. class and it clearly says Yaxley, not Moody! I was right! And Moody," he pointed at a different spot, "is in his rooms."

They exchanged looks. Yaxley was no pushover, he had certainly gotten the drop on Harry last Spring. "Change of plans," said Garry. "We hit him in the Great Hall at lunch. We don't know when his schedule is for taking the potion — on the hour, half hour, or what. So, what we'll do is I'll meet him as his D.A.D.A. class lets out and switch the flask contents." Sirius made a move to speak. "No, Sirius, everyone knows you fawn over Harry something awful and he would be suspicious if you were there and not with Harry. And he would be equally suspicious of you, Remus." He smiled broadly, "I, on the other hand, will be anxious to meet the man teaching my students and make sure he is as good a professor as the Great Gilderoy Lockhart, Hogwart's most beloved Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor!"

Rolling their eyes, Remus and Sirius reluctantly agreed. Remus handed over the flask.

The dandy folded and placed the map in his pocket. "Now then, why don't you all head for the Great Hall while I waylay our victim?"

Garry leaned casually against the corridor wall, waiting for the class to end. He could hear Mad-eye finishing up. Soon, the door burst open and the children poured out. It was a Fifth Year class, and the first few through the door startled on seeing him. "Professor Lockhart!" came the quick cry. Soon he was surrounded by his former students, especially the Witches, asking how he was, what he was doing, and what did he think of the Tournament? And the most popular by far was "Do you remember me?"

Laughing joyfully at their instant attention, he waved them off on their way to lunch, but several remained around him. He peeked in the door to see both Mad-eye and Nymie standing at the desk, talking. Seeing him, Nymie waved, her bubble-gum pink hair turning briefly red. Mad-eye gave him a suspicious look. Together they started for door. Garry stepped back to give them room.

"Mad-eye," he cried happily, "I've been looking forward to meeting you again!" He would pretend to be a good friend of the suspicious old buzzard — that should throw the Wizard off his stride! Yaxley would distance himself from Garry so as not to make a mistake and give himself away. "As long as I was here today I had to stop by and make sure that my former students were getting the best education possible — while you are a highly qualified Auror I am, after all a World-class adventurer!"

Moody eyed him disapprovingly. "I certainly don't need your help!"

"Excellent!" cried Garry, and put his arm around the old Auror.

Mad-eye smoothly stepped back. Garry pretended not to notice, stepping closer to follow the Wizard and his arm still touching the other Wizard's shoulders. Mad-eye again stepped back, this time starting to get angry. He didn't notice Garry's other hand snaking out to grab his flask from his pocket.

Garry took a quick step away towards Nymie and held up the flask. "You know, Mad-eye, you never did tell me what you put in this." Nymie's eyes shot wide-open. No one had ever tried to pickpocket the paranoid Wizard's flask — no one had ever managed to get that close!

Mad-eye made a startled grab for the flask. Garry held it away. "What's in it? Water? Butterbeer?" He paused for a dramatic second and smirked, "Fire-whiskey?" He started to reach for the cap to open the flask.

"Gimme that you pompous fool!" growled Mad-eye, this time successfully yanking the flask out of Lockhart's unresisting hands. He shoved it back into his pocket.

Garry grinned. "Got you that time, you old buzzard!" he said chuckling. He yelled, "Constant Vigilance!" He bowed, sweeping his arm down the corridor, "After you, Professor Moody."

The irate Auror stomped off mumbling and growling, keeping to one side of the corridor — that farthest from Garry. Nymie and Garry followed a moment later, with Garry's entourage giggling and laughing at Garry getting the drop on the prickly old paranoid Wizard.

Garry pulled out the map and pointed at Mad-eye, then pointed at the map where his and Nymie's names appeared. He made sure his finger covered his name leaving only the last part, "–ockhart" showing. He didn't want to give away his secret, too. She looked at the map and the names around hers on it, then at the name following the footsteps in front of her. Her head shot up to look at Garry. He nodded. She looked back down and then at Moody. Garry held a finger in front of his lips, indicating she should keep silent. He put the map away just before the paranoid old Auror glanced at them.

He waited a moment then leaned close to her ear and quietly said, "Watch for my lead. If he stops in the middle of taking a drink from his flask and looks suspicious, stun him! Don't let anyone interfere, and for Merlin's sake, pay attention during the meal! Remember, Bones said to follow my orders." She nodded, hesitantly.

Garry took a moment to look around when he entered the Great Hall. Harry and his friends were sitting at the Ravenclaw table. He was pleased to see that Hermione and Luna sat with Harry between them with Neville sandwiched between Susan and Hannah. And Ron? Ron was far down the table. And sitting with Draco! What had happened in the last five, almost six, months? Maybe he didn't need to worry about Ron interfering with Harry and Hermione any more.

Across from them sat Sirius, Remus, and the Tonks with Bell.

He was disappointed, but not surprised, to see that the "Harry Potter Stinks" buttons were in evidence. Like last time, someone in Ravenclaw came up with the actual spells and charmed the buttons. He was pretty sure that Draco had nothing to do with them this time. Draco might have suggested it, but he wouldn't do anything to jeopardize his and his mother's position in the family.

At the head of the Hall, in front of the Headmaster's Table were two other tables. Garry saw several press people, including Rita, at one, while the other had dignitaries from the U.K. Ministry and the other two schools' Ministries. Excellent, a worldwide audience, he was pleased to note.

Garry headed straight for Rita. "Rita, my love!" he cried as he crouched down between her and Bozo's chairs before she even knew he was there. She jumped, startled, but turned a sceptical eye on him, raising an eyebrow. "Well," she said, drily, "Long time, no see!"

"Ah, you wound me!" said Garry dramatically, placing his hand on his heart. "Don't worry though," he said in a conspiratorial whisper. "I have a sell-out story for you!" He looked at Bozo, "Keep a close eye on Mad-eye, Bozo." He grinned at Rita's frowning face. "Trust me, Rita," he said much more quietly, almost in her ear. "This will put you on the front page for the rest of the week! The Tournament will take a back seat to it."

Her expression had changed to one of conniving and she was already stealing glances at Moody as he sat not far from her at the Headmaster's Table. "Remember our deal with Harry Potter, keep to it and I'll have an exclusive for you on _his_ perspective of the Tournament. And if you're really good you might get an interview with his girlfriends!" She gave him wide-eyed and very greedy look. "Yes, girlfriends as in plural. Things will happen when I start coughing."

He moved over to sit at the front of the Ravenclaw table, among the Seventh Years, and facing Moody's seat at the Headmistress' Table. He wanted to be close when it all came together. He spent the next forty minutes talking with his former students. This Moody wasn't as effective a teacher as his Moody had been during his Tri-wizard. Fortunately, this Moody had skipped the Unforgiveables lecture.

Nymie had taken a seat at the head of the Hufflepuff table, also facing Moody.

Moody was fretting. Normally, the students told Garry, he took his meals in his rooms, but Headmistress McGonagall had insisted he attend this lunch as part of the festivities of the First Task. He was picking at his desert when he stopped and reached into his robes. Garry sent a quick mild stinging hex at Nymie. She turned to look at him, scowling. He pointed with his chin at Moody. She spun in her seat. Her wand was already in her hand. Garry had palmed his as well. He started coughing loudly and stood, focusing attention on himself.

Moody had already lifted the flask to his mouth. He took a quick sip. He made a face, and then frowned. He spit out what was in his mouth, but it was too late. That little bit of Sleeping Draught slowed his reactions. He started to throw himself backwards. Almost simultaneously two stunners from Nymie and Garry hit the Auror. A second later, a third from the back of the Hall hit the Auror — probably Sirius. Moody slumped over in his chair.

Pandemonium erupted in the Hall. Nymie was already hurrying around the Headmistress' Table. Garry took the easy route and jumped up on the Ravenclaw table. He almost fell as his muscles spasmed, a leftover from this morning. He casted an _incarcerous_ on the fake Moody. He decided to claim that his awkwardness was him dodging a possible response from the Death Eater.

"Everyone calm down," he bellowed using a _sonorous_. "I, Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defence League, six-time winner of _Witch Weekly's_ Most-Charming-Smile Award, Hogwarts' beloved former Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor, Slayer of Basilisks, and Detector of Dark Wizards have once again saved the students of Hogwarts!" Garry made himself lighter with the Featherweight spell and delicately leapt from the Ravenclaw Table to the Headmistress' Tabletop and in front of the fake Moody.

The students, those that remembered him as a professor promptly quieted down and shushed the younger years and visiting students. They remembered his other performances in the Great Hall, and this appeared to be just as entertaining.

"This Wizard is a fake," he continued. He cast a vanishing charm on the man's left sleeve. "He is a polyjuiced Death Eater!" The students gasped, the adults began to deny the possibility. "That's Mad-eye!" "Impossible!" "Are you mad?"

Minister Bones had warned her security detail to allow Gilderoy to act without interference. Only Gilderoy's past performance at delivering surprisingly effective results had convinced her to give him this much latitude. If he couldn't back up his claim, he would be in deep, deep shite for an attack on an Auror, even if he was retired. In the meantime, her security detail was covering her carefully with shields up and ready to hustle her out of the room at the first sign of movement towards her. She remained seated but held her wand firmly in hand. She pushed one Auror to the side to give her a better view.

But now she was watching her Auror, Nymphadora Tonks, through narrowed eyes, and paying special attention to how she was taking this so seriously. Still a trainee, the Witch was following through like a professional. And acting as if she had total confidence that Gilderoy was correct. She wasn't taking her eyes or wand off the old Auror, and had already removed both his main and backup wands, which totalled four wands, the Minister noted with chagrin. Tonks had also _accioed_ the flask and a two other nondescript items, probably portkeys.

" _Mr. Lockhart_!" said McGonagall, " _What is the meaning of this?_ " She was standing, as was almost everyone at the Headmistress' Table.

"Everyone quiet, please," Garry said, still using the sonorous. "Can everyone see me? Can everyone hear me?" He waited a bare moment for the noise level to drop. He smiled broadly, using his left hand to drape his robes elegantly to his side, shaking his head ever so slightly to make his hair wave dramatically.

He turned to the Headmistress. "I have incontrovertible proof that this Wizard," he pointed at the bound old Auror, "is _not_ Alastor "Mad-eye" Moody, but is instead a polyjuiced Death Eater, one Phineas Yaxley."

She stared at him a moment, then said, "Proctors! Clear the Hall . . . ."

"Stop!" interrupted Garry. He smiled at her broadly. "Would this not be a great opportunity for your students to see our wonderful Ministry and Aurors in action? To see how the Ministry conducts an investigation? To see an _actual_ interrogation in action? To observe the extraordinary talents of myself, Gilderoy Lockhart, in person and not as something they read after the fact?"

She stared at him, eyes narrowed in suspicion. Slowly, she nodded, "Everyone," she said, her voice carrying over the Hall easily, "return to your seats." She gave Garry a smirk, "Professor Lockhart has a lesson for us."

Minister Bones cleared her throat. "We should take Mr. Moody back to the Ministry for questioning," she stated.

Garry looked down at her from the tabletop, "If you remove him, all sorts of awful rumours will appear and make life difficult for you and the Ministry," he said quietly, "Such as, that you are covering up facts to protect yourself." She, too, nodded slowly. He smiled broadly.

"Professor Snape, would you be so good as to fetch some of your personal stock of veritaserum?" The greasy-haired git stared at him, unmoving.

The Minister shook her head, "You can't administer veritaserum without due cause."

Garry grinned at her, confidently. "No, we wait a few minutes. By the time, Severus returns with the potion you will see a Death Eater impersonating a retired Auror, using that person's reputation to procure the position of Professor at Hogwarts, and thus gaining access to a thousand of England's best students for who knows what nefarious deeds.

"That is a crime of the first degree if I am not mistaken. That he is the one responsible for entering Mr. Potter into the Tri-Wizard Tournament raises the crime to that of an international incident. I'm sure not even the Wizenmaggots can gainsay the use of Veritaserum when it is likely he has interfered with the first task and four lives are at risk at a minimum, two of them invited foreign visitors."

She sat silent for a minute, before saying, "On my authority as Minster for Magic, I authorize the use of Veritaserum in this instance."

Garry turned to Snape and raised an eyebrow. Snape looked at McGonagall, who said, "Go, Severus."

Garry levitated the phoney Moody to the Headmistress' Tabletop, with his bare left arm facing the students. The room settled to a soft buzz as the students started whispering and talking quietly, only now realizing that their Professor for the last three months might be a Death Eater. He began adopting various poses for Bozo, and the other photographers present, with the defeated Death Eater at his feet. Front-page headlines, again. It had been quite a while since the last ones. He wanted only the best pictures to appear in the newsparchments for his adoring public to admire.

The whole hall let out a gasp when "Moody" began to bubble and his wooden leg fell to the floor as a real one took its place. The appearance of the Death Eater tattoo on his exposed arm brought a hurricane of whispers and not a few shrieks of horror as they realized the truth of Gilderoy's accusations. Snape paused only a moment when he arrived back at the Headmistress' Table and saw the Death Eater Yaxley where previously had been Moody. Snape hadn't really believed Gilderoy, but here was the proof.

The Veritaserum quickly provided the answers: Yes, he was a Death Eater. Yes, you had to take the Mark willingly. Yes, he had tortured and killed a Muggle-born and his family to take it, as they _all_ did. Yes, he had tricked the Goblet of Fire into choosing Harry. Yes, it was on orders from the Dark Lord. Yes, he meant Lord Voldemort. Yes, the Dark Lord was back. He was currently in a homunculus. Yes, he was seeking to acquire a full body. Yes, the Dark Lord wanted Harry for the ritual.

They stopped the questioning at that point.

Garry said, "I think we've proved the point, don't you agree, Minister Bones? This is conclusively _not_ Alastor Moody. Mr. Potter did not _choose_ to enter the Tri-Wizard Tournament. And, somehow, Voldewhore intends to subvert this tournament. Perhaps a stronger Auror presence for the tasks would be in order?" Grimly, the Minister nodded.

"Perhaps we should involve some of the Aurors from both France and Bulgaria now that they know beyond the shadow of a doubt that their Champions' lives are at risk from an outside force," he added in a speculative tone. Madam Olympe Maxime and High Master Professor Igor Karkaroff were both nodding their heads in agreement.

Garry rubbed his hands together in a satisfied manner and grinning happily, "Well now that that's been all sorted, and speaking of the Tournament, Headmistress McGonagall, perhaps we should dismiss the students so we can all watch the First Task?" He smiled brilliantly, and then hopped down to the floor beside the reporters. He hoped no one noticed his slight stumble — he still hadn't entirely recovered his balance.

Lockhart leaned over to Rita and whispered, "The First Task is Dragons. I have no doubt Harry will put on a _spectacular_ performance for us. If you ask nicely, I'm sure that you could get several students — perhaps even Harry's girlfriends, Miss Granger and Miss Lovegood — to provide you with comprehensive memories of the Task while _you_ prepare an article for this evening's _Daily Prophet_ about what we just saw. And steal a march on all the other newsparchments." She gave him a startled look, then grinned. She grabbed Bozo and whispered into his ear. The photographer nodded. She hustled out of the Great Hall on her way to Hogsmeade and a floo.

Yaxley, under heavy Auror guard, left for a holding cell. Minister Bones left to deal with the issues of his proper interrogation. The students trailed out of the Hall and towards the Task viewing stands.

"Fear not, Harry," the Garry told the nervous student as they slowly headed over to the Champions tent, his friends following, stunned at the revelations they had just heard. "You will do fabulously. When you hop on your broom all your doubts will melt away."


	28. Chapter 28 The More Things Change

**A.N.** _Sorry for the long delay, but I didn't like the ending and so I rewrote it. Several times. It's now a chapter longer than previously. Heh. I had intended to wrap this up somewhere around twenty chapters, but the story just wouldn't let me do that. Anyway, hope you like this instalment._

 **28\. The More Things Change . . .**

The First Task started an hour late, at three instead of two. Minister Bones refused to let them start until she had what she felt was an adequate force of Aurors in place. And it took time to gather them from off-work and other assignments. Where there had been just a few Aurors for crowd control there were now easily a hundred Aurors and trainees scattered around the viewing stands and Hogwarts grounds.

As Garry remembered, Cedric went first, Fleur second, and Krum third. And they drew the same dragons. It only now occurred to Garry that he should have asked if Yaxley had charmed the bag holding the models. As the paranoid Moody, it would have been in character for Yaxley to demand to check the bag, and thus ensure that Harry drew the worst of the bunch. Oh, well, it was too late now.

The differences, though, thanks to the potions secretly supplied by Sirius, were that Cedric and Fleur escaped with only their robes slightly singed. Krum, however, still used the _conjunctivitus_ curse and lost points for the destruction of the other eggs in the nest.

Harry performed almost exactly as he remembered doing, exhibiting flying skills that drew admiring remarks from Bagman and gasps from the crowd. This time, though, when the dragon's tail slid along his shoulder all it did was tear the boy Wizard's robes and left him unmarked. That didn't prevent Garry from flinching slightly at the remembered pain.

In the end, the rankings were Harry, Fleur, Cedric, and Krum. The first three were differentiated merely by their times, not to mention the biased scoring by the Master Karkaroff.

Afterwards, as the family was congratulating the stunned Harry on his success, Headmistress McGonagall came up to Garry. She studied him, smiling for a moment. She had a gleam in her eye that he didn't like. Before he could burst into his normal, that is, self-aggrandizing spiel to the audience that was quickly forming around them, she said, "Well, Professor Lockhart, because you have managed to deprive Hogwarts of its D.A.D.A. Professor so early in the year, it seems only fitting that you should take his place. Especially given your previous experience in that position. I'll expect to see you tomorrow morning, bright and early." She grinned even wider at his startled expression.

But he needed to figure out what happened — and _why_ the last six months were so fuzzy! And why was Gilderoy so quiet? And he had so many things to do to prepare, to find Voldewhore, and circumvent his plans. And he _still_ needed to finish examining the final proofs on _Restraining a Rat_! That, naturally, would be taking most of his attention for the next few days.

"Why, thank you, Minerva, that's a generous offer! But I should think that the _real_ Alastor Moody should take that position. While I dislike depriving your students of the wonderful education I could provide . . . ," he paused a beat but decided to skip his _I'm the Great Gilderoy_ spiel. He continued instead with, ". . . it simply would not be fair to the Wizard to do otherwise." For some reason a look of dread crossed the Headmistress' face during his brief pause, followed by relief at his just continuing his sentence. "You did search his rooms and find the real Moody hidden inside his trunk with all the polyjuice supplies, correct?"

She nodded sadly. "Madam Pomfrey says it will take several weeks for him to recover. And even then, he won't be up to the demands of a full-time position as the D.A.D.A. professor. So," she looked at him intently, "I expect to see you here tomorrow for your classes, bright and early." She gave him a broad smile, turned, and headed over to talk with French Minister, presumably regarding coordinating with his Aurors for the next task.

He stared after her, ignoring the congratulations his admirers were giving him. She could have said something anytime that afternoon, but she had waited until now. He frowned. Had the Headmistress just _pranked_ him? He snorted. Well, _that_ had been unexpected. He smiled broadly, and turned his attention to his fangirls. . . er, his admiring public. . . and began to troll – heh, he meant _extoll_ – how exceptional his teaching skills were to the crowd around him. Signing a few autographs was not unexpected and helped improve his disposition.

(⊙_⊙)

Lockhart reread his parchment, studying it as he headed downstairs from the Study.

 _._

 _Second task: Open egg underwater to hear message. They put_ _someone_ _important to the Champion in the Mervillage under the lake. Champion has one hour to rescue them. Hostages are safe. I, Gilderoy Lockhart, will be in village to monitor the hostages. Warn Fleur's father that they will take her sister. A fire-creature underwater without precautions? What are they_ thinking _!_

 _Solution has two parts:_

 _First, breathing underwater — gillyweed, bubble charm, transfiguration to underwater creature, or muggle scuba gear?_

 _Second, finding and getting to hostage and back to land in under an hour — conjure (or transfigure from dock?) a boat and use Point-me Spell to above village, and then dive straight down with a heavy rock and back with conjured muggle facemask and flippers. Instead of boat, accio broom? Can brooms "fly" underwater? . . ._

 _._

And it went on for a bit more. Yes, that would do. He walked into the dining room and dropped the parchment at his normal place setting on the table. He would reread it after supper. It was fun trying to think how he would solve the problem, knowing what he now knew — what would be easiest, what would be fastest, what would cause the most consternation among the watching crowd.

He stared at the parchment. He really _should_ take it with him because Sirius might come in and see it. Remus wouldn't share the information if he saw it, but Sirius? In a second. But Sirius was in the game-room upstairs, and he just needed a few minutes to make a floo-call to Headmistress McGonagall. He wouldn't take too long as supper should be soon.

He left it flat on the table as he went into the Sitting Room to make his floo-call.

"Headmistress McGonagall," he called. They had returned home after the task, leaving Harry and Hermione to attend the raucous party the twins were sure to throw. It was after supper at Hogwarts and he expected her to be at her desk with paperwork, especially after the day's events. She was.

"Could you get me a copy of my class schedules? Or is it the same as when I taught?"

It took her only a few minutes to provide him an updated schedule. It was mostly the same as his first year as a Professor, with only a few minor changes to accommodate the foreign students. The Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students had classrooms in the West Wing for the Professors who had come with them to teach their schools' specific subjects that were not taught at Hogwarts, but he did have an extra few classes just for them.

"The French Minister has told me," she said, "that we can expect to see the foreign Aurors arriving tomorrow." She shook her head sadly. "To think this is necessary."

"My dear," Garry/Gilderoy said, "Never fear, I, Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defence League, six-time winner of _Witch Weekly's_ Most-Charming-Smile Award, Hogwarts' beloved Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor, Slayer of Basilisks, and detector of Dark Wizards am here! Nothing shall escape me! The Aurors are merely to assure outsiders that all is well. I will be the real protection for the students!"

He could see her restraining herself from rolling her eyes. He twinkled his eyes at her — he was so glad he had _finally_ found that spell — "We know that if anything happens I shall _easily_ forestall any harm to any students, as I _always_ have!" He smiled brilliantly. "Just read my books for the details and proof."

She looked down at her desk and cleared her throat, "Yes, well, hopefully that shan't be necessary."

"In any case, I have another request."

She looked at him questioningly.

"Do you mind if I install a swimming pool in the dungeons?"

"A . . . _swimming_ . . . pool?" She looked at him in consternation.

"Yes. It occurs to me that not all Dark creatures and monsters are above water and while I am an accomplished adventurer, it is rather difficult to get across to the children just how different a matter it is when one is below the surface. Never mind the immediate problem of breathing, but how does one accomplish spells? The _reducto_ is a mere annoyance under water unless one puts a ridiculous amount of power into it — the water rapidly degrades the spell's performance. And without appropriate precautions beforehand spells underwater can be as deadly to oneself as to one's opponent! For example, a powerful _bombardo_ is a quick route to suicide!

"It would be a good experience for the children in D.A.D.A. to see how water affects their spells. Not to mention being able to encounter the underwater creatures in their native environment. It is one thing to see a grindylow in a fish tank and quite another to have a horde of them chasing you!

"Plus, it would be an excellent opportunity for them to meet the merpeople on an equal footing, as it were. Being in the dungeons, it shouldn't be _that_ difficult to arrange a tunnel to the lake to facilitate such meetings."

She blinked a few times, thinking. "A wonderful idea, Gil, but we haven't a budget to install such a thing. And it would take months, if not years, to push through the funding from the Ministry."

He waved his wand dismissively, "Not an issue. I'll simply call in a few favours from my fans and it'll _all_ be taken care of."

"Okay," she said hesitantly. "If you think you can do it, by all means go right ahead."

"Excellent! This will be _so_ much more exciting than my trip to Albania last Spring . . . ." He spent another five minutes telling her about how boring that adventure had been. Why _most_ of the villagers there had never even _heard_ of Gilderoy Lockhart, nor his fabulous adventures as chronicled in his books. And how he had to work hard to maintain his perfect appearance at all times. He left out his violent encounter with Voldewhore and Yaxley. She didn't ask about his subsequent stay in St. Mungos so perhaps she didn't know of it.

He felt someone tap his shoulder. "Oops, I'm wanted at this end, so I'll see you tomorrow at breakfast, then. Goodbye!" he called out cheerily. He pretended not to notice her relieved expression as he said that. He had far too much political and financial pull for her to risk offending him. Not that Garry really cared. She could be as rude as she wanted and he wouldn't bat an eyelash, but she didn't know that.

He pulled back from the floo and sat a moment, getting his balance back. It was Dobby at his side. "Supper is served."

"Thank you, Dobby!" he said, standing and straightening his robes. He sedately returned to the dining room. Already sitting around the table were the Tonks, Bell, Remus, and Sirius. Folded on his place setting was his parchment of notes. Sirius had the most innocent expression. If you didn't know him, you wouldn't suspect he had been reading something he knew he shouldn't. Garry was relieved to see, from the glare that Remus was giving Sirius, that Remus had managed to keep the parchment safe from prying eyes. He nodded to himself in approval. No one could claim, now that he was a Professor again, that he had deliberately helped Harry.

(◎_⊙)

That night, as Garry was finishing putting his hair curlers in place for the night — he had to look his best for the first day of his new classes — he realized it was awful quiet in the back of his mind. Normally — well, ever since the incident in _Flourish and Blotts —_ there had been the constant murmuring of Harry's thoughts and the swell and ebb of his emotions. He assumed that when Harry was in charge, then he felt the same effects from Gilderoy. But right now, there was dead silence. It was rather unnerving, actually. He hadn't noticed earlier because the pain on awakening and then the hectic activity during the day. But now, as he was relaxing in the rather mindless actions of preparing for bed, he could pay attention to what was in his own head — and it seemed to be rather empty.

Where _had_ Gilderoy disappeared to? It was just soo, quiet. . . .

Everything up to the last six months was distinct in his memory. He could clearly demarcate when he was in control and when Gilderoy was. Gilderoy, it had seemed, was more than willing to let Harry do most of the work, and only insisted on being in control when the subject of his books came up. He had been quite happy to let Harry deal with the physical issues of spell-casting and battle tactics. And Harry was more than willing to let Gilderoy do his writing and rewriting. And rewriting. And then rewriting it again. It was a _LOT_ of work writing a book, Harry had discovered. And something he hadn't considered ever doing himself. Watching Gilderoy agonize over whether that last sentence delivered what he wanted the reader to experience was, well, mind-boggling to Harry. He spent that time in planning and meditating and tried not to think about the book.

On the other hand, watching Harry zip through difficult-to-cast spells almost without thinking was beyond amazing to Gilderoy. Watching as he cast powerful spell after powerful spell without any signs of fatigue was simply astonishing to the previously mediocre Wizard. Spells that would have left Gilderoy staggering and barely able to stay awake after casting them, Harry shot off without any noticeable after-effect. And did them repeatedly.

And yet where was he? Where was Harry?

No, where was Gilderoy?

Wait, _who_ was in control here?

Garry stared at his reflection. And his reflection stared back. Was he looking at Harry? Or Gilderoy?

What had the spell been meant to do to him back last Spring? And what had it done? He couldn't detect Harry in his mind anymore, yet he could remember everything Harry had experienced and done, as well as everything he had felt emotionally. And the same was true for Gilderoy. But there was no longer a wall between them, there was no sense that if he simply relaxed and mentally said the equivalent of "Here!" that Gilderoy would take over and he could concentrate on thinking and planning while Gilderoy did what Harry thought of as drudgework. His memories no longer consisted of Harry looking at Gilderoy's childhood with envy nor Gilderoy looking in horror at Harry's experiences. Instead, they were all _his_ point-of view, they had _all_ happened to _him,_ and not to Gilderoy or Harry.

And his mental point-of-view kept flipping, making things even more confusing. One moment he was positive he was Gilderoy and the next that he was Harry. Perhaps he was both? Had Voldemort's spell, obviously meant to destroy Harry mentally, instead instigated their complete integration?

Garry decided he would go into an occlumency trance and examine the insides of his skull for a while, and if that didn't provide any substantial clues — go to bed.

(⊙_◎)

"Good Morning, Class!" Lockhart called out cheerily as the Fourth Year Gryffindors and Slytherins finished seating themselves. It was his first class of the day. He stood at the front of the class with his robes artfully held back by his hands on his hips, teeth gleaming brightly in a broad smile, nodding acknowledgements to the female students as they filed in and noticed their idol waiting for them. Today was a plum day, he had decided, and he looked stunning, even if he said so himself. He had redecorated the room, rather tastefully, he thought, using his store of Lockhart portraits. There were only about two dozen on the walls. All of them happily waving and giving the students the thumbs-up sign. Hmm, there was that blank spot over there — how had he missed it? — he would have to add a few more portraits from his trunk.

Harry and his friends regarded him somewhat warily.

"As you probably know," — it had been announced at breakfast — "your former D.A.D.A. professor was a Death Eater pretending to be Alastor Moody, and has been removed, by moi, of course," he said not so modestly.

"I am, of course, Gilderoy Lockhart," he held up the cover of the soon-to-be-released _Restraining a Rat_ with his smiling, happy face, on it, "Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defence League, six-time winner of _Witch Weekly's_ Most-Charming-Smile Award, Slayer of Basilisks, detector of Dark Wizards, and, as you _all_ remember, Hogwarts' most beloved Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor. And, in view of your former Professor now being in Ministry custody, the Headmistress has wisely chosen _me_ to finish out your education this year!" He grinned broadly at the class, making sure his gleaming teeth were on display.

There were sighs of dismay from many of the boys, and sighs of contentment from all the girls.

He dropped the book back on his desk with a loud bang, the Gilderoy on the cover winching in response. He rubbed his hands together gleefully as he went " _Muwa ha ha ha haaa!_ " in his best Muggle mad scientist impression — he had spent over an hour last night practicing it, he hoped the little buggers appreciated it! "You're _MINE_ , now!"

Harry and company definitely were alarmed, now. Well, except for Hermione, she looked as if she were about to have an orgasm.

"I looked over your course materials and you seem to be right where you are supposed to be. Unfortunately." He broadened his smile as many of the students started to look alarmed. They remembered his packed course material from Second Year when he had worked them relentlessly. They had had excellent grades as a result, but still, it had been quite tiring.

"Put your books and bags away, we're going to see just how good your practicals are!" He spun around with a flourish and wandlessly moved his desk and chair to the wall. Spinning back to face the class, he shot a quick stunner at Harry. As he had expected, the boy already had his wand up and a shield appeared to reflect the spell to the ceiling. "CONSTANT VIGILANCE," Lockhart cried happily. "Five points to Mr. Potter for being prepared!"

For the class it seemed as if the next two hours passed in minutes as he put them through their paces. "Terrible!" he exclaimed just before class let out. "You're right where you should be!" They stared back, appalled. "Have no fear, though! I, Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defence League, six-time winner of _Witch Weekly's_ Most-Charming-Smile Award, Slayer of Basilisks, detector of Dark Wizards, and your beloved Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor will have you ready for your OWLs by then end of the year." The class goggled at him, stunned.

"But, but, _OWLs_ are _next_ year," cried one horrified soul, Ron, he thought.

Lockhart laughed. "And what's wrong with being ahead? Everyone will underestimate you, giving you a definite advantage in any sort of confrontation. Plus, this will give you more time to concentrate on your _other_ subjects next year and your D.A.D.A time will be merely revising! That and getting a head start on your N.E.W.T.s so your final years won't be as exhausting." Several of the students with siblings having gone through N.E.W.T.s nodded their agreement. Three years to learn what they needed for the DADA N.E.W.T.s would be much better than the cramming that took place trying to do it in two.

Hermione was nodding eagerly while the rest of the class divided into two groups: one of resigned acceptance and the other of horror at the work involved.

"By the way," he added, "I am installing an Olympic-sized pool in the dungeon's west wing so that we may get up close and _personal_ with the denizens of the watery realm!" There was a stunned silence. "And to teach those who don't know how, how to swim. The pool will be open for recreational use by students all school year from six in the morning until curfew, except when in use by D.A.D.A and Care of Magical Creatures classes, which times will be posted in your Common Rooms and in the pool room." He didn't mention the alarm on the room that went to the DADA Professor's room in the event anyone tried to enter it after curfew. The house-elves also monitored the room at all times so there wouldn't be any drowning tragedies. A spell of his own devising prevented anyone from entering the pool if there were no professors or house-elves to provide over-sight.

The class broke up into furious whispering as those students familiar with public pools explained to the others what was going on.

"Class dismissed! Mr. Potter, a brief moment of your time, please."

Hermione, Neville, Susan, Hannah, and Ron waited just outside the door as Harry approached Lockhart's desk. Ron was more to the edge of the group instead of being right up with Hermione. Perhaps he was finally getting a handle on his jealousy.

"Harry, my boy, I haven't had a chance to get together with you and it looks as if things are rather busy for you and me right now. So, I wanted to tell you," he said quietly, "I haven't been myself since returning from Albania, but yesterday I . . . I guess you could say I . . . woke up." He sighed. "If I had been truly awake, I would have been able to prevent this whole fiasco with the Tri-Wizard Tournament, and I apologize for not doing that." He shook his head sadly, looking down at the floor for a moment, inwardly cursing himself for his over confidence in dealing with Voldewhore in Albania.

He should have _expected_ there to be a dedicated follower nearby. He should have _planned_ for the Death Eater to have competent backup. The Future Harry Potter for sure would have expected a trap before setting out and made accommodations accordingly. His successes of the previous two years had given him a false sense of security and assuredness — a feeling that he could make no mistakes. Well, he had paid for that mistake, and so had Harry, to a lesser degree, by ending up in the Tri-Wizard Tournament.

Harry smiled at him, warmly. "It's okay, you've more than made up for anything wrong you might have done with getting my godfather free and taking in Bella. Sometimes you might be a right prat, but I know you mean well."

The older Wizard raised his eyebrows in surprise. Apparently, important things had happened between them over the last half a year. "Thank you, Harry," Garry said gratefully. He frowned. "I'm sorry to say that I don't remember much of the last six months, so if I say or do something unusual, please forgive me."

It was Harry's turn to frown.

"Nothing to worry about, my boy." Lockhart said. "Now, you need to contact Sirius about the next task. He has information for you. Not being a Professor or otherwise involved in the Tournament, he can provide you with assistance." Harry nodded; Sirius' help with the first task had been indispensable.

He smiled at the shorter Wizard. "Now, run along."

Harry left quickly, and Lockhart was pleased see that he grabbed Hermione's hand as they set off down the corridor while Luna, who had arrived in the meantime, took his other hand. Astonishingly, Draco — Draco! — was also outside in the corridor and walked beside Ron as the group headed for their dinner before afternoon classes. Gone was his typical sneer and he and Ron appeared to be quite amicable. Had Garry hit the nail on the head two years ago? He shook his head ruefully.

The rest of the week passed quickly as Garry quickly assessed the different classes. They were all where he expected. He previously brought them all to the point where they exceeded the school's requirements the last time he was here, and Remus hadn't let them fall behind last year. The exceptions, of course were the First and Second Years students who hadn't been in attendance back then. It would take only a little work to bring them up to snuff, and then move them ahead.

The underwater portions he had planned would add a small bit to the course material, but not anything that would drastically affect the schedule. He foresaw the pool becoming a rich recreational resource during the cold winter months, which would decrease some of the tension of a thousand students trapped inside a snowbound edifice. Not to mention getting Harry the help he needed with the Second Task while hiding it as course material for the entire school. And the pranking opportunities were limitless!

First, there were the reactions the conservative Wizards would have to their first sight of the bikinis that Garry was sure the Muggle-born Witches would rapidly introduce to the pool. Those would provide much amusement. The Pure-bloods only _thought_ the current Wizarding World one-piece swimsuits were revealing! And he could hardly wait to see the Witches' response to a Wizard in a speedo! And then there were the spells he had built into the pool-room that occasionally would turn the Seventh year classes' suits transparent while underwater or wet. Not too much, nor for too long. Just enough to rile both genders.

Oh, this year was going to be _soo_ much fun!

(◎_◎)

"Mademoiselle Delacour, if you would come down here please," Lockhart called out after his introduction to the Seventh Year D.A.D.A. Class. This class was a mix of Beauxbatons, Durmstrang, and Hogwarts students. The foreign students were all giving him looks of disbelief and disdain, obviously considering him little more than a dandy — especially after seeing the room's decorations. He so loved it when people underestimated him, it made it so much more satisfying when he trounced them later on.

The Hogwarts students, though, from previous experience two years ago, regarded him with well-deserved respect. They remembered him as the eccentric magical powerhouse with impressive teaching skills that he truly was.

The beautiful Half-Witch reluctantly, but elegantly, stood and started to the front of the room. The Beauxbaton student's robes marvellously showed off her hypnotising figure as she walked down to join Lockhart at the front of the class. She was the epitome of grace in motion.

"Now, then, most of you know that Miss Delacour, here, is a Half-Veela." He gave her a broad smile. "Who can tell me what that means?"

Several students raised their hands

"Gospodin Poliakoff."

The Durmstrang student stood beside his desk. "They are race of semi-human, semi-magical creatures," he sneered. "Their looks and dance are magically seductive to males. When angry, they transform into bird-like creatures and can launch balls of fire from their hands. They are easily angered." He added distastefully, "They can _breed_ with Wizards." He managed to sound outraged at that thought.

"An excellent summary!" Garry shook his head slightly to flounce his hair. He figured the Durmstrang student must be a closet gay as who _wouldn't_ want to breed with the stunningly beautiful creature now standing beside him at the front of the classroom? Based on Bill Weasley's appearance in the morning the few times Garry had visited them at Shell Cottage, it was an experience well worth the effort!

"Mademoiselle Durand, can you add anything to that?"

"It is unknown if Half-Veela or Part-Veela can be male with the same abilities as female Part-Veelas. They experience a great deal of hostility from Wizards and Witches. It is unknown at what generation Part-Veela lose their ability to transform."

"Excellent! Now then, Mademoiselle Delacour, can you selectively target your allure?"

She frowned prettily, but reluctantly nodded, "Oui. A bit."

"Volunteers, please!" He paused only long enough to take a breath, "You, you, you, and . . . you!"

The indicated students, two Wizards and two Witches, shaking their heads at their poor luck in being selected, came to the front of the class and stood to his left while the Half-Veela was to his right. In short order, Lockhart had Fleur demonstrate the effects of her allure. The Witches were upset and annoyed at the Wizards while the Wizards wore dazed expressions and couldn't take their eyes off the young Part-Veela. Several seated students closest to her also showed the effects. That included one girl Lockhart was interested to notice.

Lockhart then attempted several different protective shields, placing them between the Half-Veela and himself and his test subjects.

"Well, isn't that interesting! There does not appear to be any magical barrier capable of protecting oneself from the allure!" He grinned at the class. "You are either resistant or you are not!" He put his left hand on his hip, showing off. "Naturally, a _great_ Wizard such as myself is _easily_ capable of resisting even a Full-Veela's allure." Fleur gave him a sidelong glance.

"But what about physical barriers, hmm?"

They quickly determined that a wall of any kind, wood, stone, metal, cloth, anything that completely blocked sight of the Half-Witch would stop the allure. Glass did not, nor did cloth thin enough to allow some sight of the Half-Witch through, even if it was only a shadow.

"Well, isn't that interesting. This aspect Veela Allure is an _entirely_ sight-based magic. The only way to stop the allure is _physically_ to block your sight of the Veela! Even just closing your eyes will stop it."

He glanced around the room. Most students appeared surprised.

"Plus, the Veela allure is not infallible! Strong-minded Wizards, such as myself, or those truly in love can resist it, isn't that true, Mademoiselle?" He turned towards her, flashing his blinding bright smile at her.

"Oui." Fleur was completely blank-faced, even though he could feel her irritation and anger flowing out from her.

"The Wizards are captivated by the allure, which makes them angry that they lost control, while the Witches are angry because they are worried that they will lose their Wizard to a Veela, to competition they have no hope of overpowering or beating! And _THAT_ is why many Veela are unfairly subjected to discrimination and dislike."

He looked out across the class. "Mademoiselle Vasseur, have you ever noticed that Wizards spend more time talking to your chest than to you?" The Witch in question was quite well endowed. The Beauxbatons' robes did an excellent job of showcasing a Witches' upper superstructure, even if there wasn't that much structure to showcase. Still, he appreciated the robe-designer's attention to detail.

She rolled her eyes, "Oui." Most of the rest of the girls in the class giggled or nodded in agreement. Those nearly as well built as Mademoiselle Vasseur had exasperated expressions as well. Several of the boys looked embarrassed and snuck quick looks at the better endowed Beauxbatons students.

"The fact that Wizards stare at your chest doesn't mean that you want them to do that, now does it?"

"Non," came the quiet answer.

"Sometimes your chest tends to attract attention from Wizards you really do not want to talk to, or even be seen talking to, isn't that true as well?"

"Oui."

"And isn't it true that in some cases you attract the attention of Wizard's you would really rather totally avoid? Especially those we tend to call lechers or perverts?"

"Oui." She blushed while looking somewhat angry.

"And you have many Witches who envy you your ability to attract Wizards, many who resent you for that same ability, and many who dislike you, even though it's just an accident of birth that you have those buxom attributes. And many of those Witches spread nasty rumours about you being a Witch of loose morals because you can so _easily_ capture the interest of any Wizard just by loosening a button, don't they?"

Still blushing, she answered "Oui," sadly.

"And isn't it also true that most Wizards seem to think that the larger a Witch's chest is, the dumber she must be?"

"Oui," was the exasperated reply, seconded by several other Witches who had larger than average mammary glands.

"So, one might say that you understand _exactly_ how a Veela feels about the attention she gets from Wizards, isn't that so?"

Both Witches exchanged a startled look before staring at Lockhart.

"Mademoiselle Vasseur, if you could attract and marry _any_ Wizard you wanted, would you pick an average, run-of-the-mill Wizard, or the richest most powerful Wizard you could find?"

She laughed, "Ze rich one, of course!" All the girls laughed at that. Lockhart looked out at the class, smiling broadly.

"So, then, ladies, none of you need worry about losing your Wizardfriend to a Veela, unless your Wizardfriend is a _rich_ and a _magically powerful_ Wizard, isn't that right? After all, if a Veela can have _any_ Wizard, why should she settle for a weak pauper when she can have the richest and most powerful?"

The Witches all had stunned looks that slowly changed to calculating as they stared at Fleur, who was staring at Lockhart in shock.

"Finally, Mademoiselle Vasseur," Lockhart said, "who would you find _more_ interesting? A Wizard who simply stared at your chest all the time every time you met or went on a date, or a Wizard who looked you in the eyes and actually _listened_ to what you said? Who could actually hold an intelligent conversation with you on subjects you find interesting?"

She frowned and answered, "Ze Wizard who listened."

"Exactly!" cried Lockhart triumphantly. "So, ladies, the Wizard a Veela will find most interesting falls into one of two categories. Either he's the richest and most powerful Wizard around, or he can resist the allure. A perfect match would be both, of course, such as myself, the famous Gilderoy Lockhart." He paused. He could see the Hogwarts students mentally finishing his spiel about his accomplishments. He grinned broadly, he had trained them well, he had. He continued, "Of the two, I'm sure that Mademoiselle Delacour, here, will tell you she is far more interested in finding a partner who she can talk with intelligently rather than a slobbering imbecile who can barely walk because he's too busy drooling on her shoes. After all, if you could have any Wizard _you_ wanted, which would _you_ choose?"

The Witches in class all had thoughtful expressions. The Wizards looked mostly confused, probably an aftereffect of Fleur's allure. Or the fact that they were boys and basically incapable of understanding the problem at all.

"Mademoiselle Delacour, isn't it also true that the allure is difficult to control while you are young?"

"Oui."

"So, while you are still learning to control your allure, just as Wizards and Witches are learning to control their magic, sometimes you won't be able to restrain it and Wizards will succumb to its influence. They will follow you around like little lost puppies, with their tongues hanging out and drooling on the floor. Correct?"

The half-witch stared at him. "Oui," she answered slowly.

Garry turned back to the class. "So, ladies, if you see your Wizardfriend staring at Mademoiselle Delacour with a _particularly_ blank look and you can't seem to break it, you know _three_ things of vital importance.

"First, you Wizardfriend is NOT in love with you, no matter what he professes. That _could_ change, but at that moment, it is _not_ true. Explain that to him in small words — and _don't_ say 'You know why I'm mad!' I _guarantee_ you, he _doesn't_. If you want to be snarky, give him a mop and bucket and tell him it's for his drool."

"Second, unless your Wizardfriend is very rich and magically powerful, you have nothing to fear from Mademoiselle Delacour, she's looking for someone who can _easily_ resist her allure. In most cases that will be an _older_ mature Wizard. One who is confident in himself and his position.

"Neither do you have to fear her if your Wizardfriend _is_ in love with you and able to resist her — just because he's in love with you doesn't mean he could resist her if he were unattached. Plus, if he's _truly_ in love with you, she knows she hasn't a chance of deflecting that love to herself. If she could deflect that love, then he wouldn't be able to resist her in the first place.

"And third, she's accidentally temporarily lost control of her allure, please forgive her error. Trying to control her allure is a tiring job, and the longer her day is the more difficult it becomes. As a result, you are more likely to see such incidents in the late evening. As she gets older that control will strengthen until it only affects those physically within a foot or so of her. Any male farther than her arms reach is safe, unless he is particularly weak minded. But for now, it is difficult for her.

"And finally, put your hand over his eyes or turn his head to look at you to break the connection. It might take a moment, but it will work. Another effective method is a good sharp kick to the shin." He paused, then added, "If you are particularly annoyed, aim higher." The Wizards all made a reflexive winch at the thought of where that higher aim might be.

"Now, then, regarding her transformed form. When extremely angry or upset, a Veela will transform into a bird-like creature capable to throwing devastating fireballs. The best defence against this is _DO NOT PISS OFF A VEELA_! Understand?" He glared at the class. "And if you ever do encounter a transformed Veela, RUN! While a shield such as _protego_ will stop a fireball or two, it will collapse fairly quickly under the barrage of fireballs she will fling your way."

Garry turned and gave the young half-witch a beaming smile. "You may return to your seat. Oh, would you mind attending my other classes later this week and repeating this lesson? I find live examples make a longer lasting impression than a simple lecture. Give me your answer later today."

With several uncertain glances back at him, she returned to her seat. What had just happened had not been what she expected when he had first started speaking.

Garry knew he had just changed the young Witch's life at Hogwarts. While some Witches would ignore this lesson, at least a few would now understand and empathize with the Part-Veela, and perhaps be willing to befriend her. At the very least the amount of open hostility would drop.

Later that day she sought him out and agreed to demonstrate her allure in his other classes.

(◎_⊙)

Rita was delighted with her interview with Harry, Hermione, and Luna the week after the First Task. That they were an acknowledged trio, now, made things simpler. Colin loved the photograph credits he got. He was doing quite a good business selling his photos of the famous Boy-Who-Lived. And students were asking for photos of their school Quidditch team favourites. Harry planned to drop the suggestion that he set up a photography studio when he graduated — he knew an investor who might be willing to help if the student was interested.


	29. Chapter 29 And the Winner is

**A.N.: MERRY CHRISTMAS AND HAPPY HOLIDAYS!**

 **29\. And the Winner is . . .**

Garry's class walked uncertainly into the large empty chamber in the West Wing dungeon. It had a high ceiling, easily fifty feet above their heads, with two platforms at the far end, one short and the other tall. The Muggle-born recognized them as diving platforms, but there didn't appear to be a pool. The ceiling showed a bright sunny sky, and extended down the walls to reveal the surrounding mountains, cutting off and returning to standard stone walls just above the highest diving platform. If you didn't know you were in a dungeon, you would think the room was an outside walled-patio. The room itself was as warm as the nice summer day the ceiling showed. They couldn't even hear the current pre-winter storm raging outside the castle's walls.

Harry looked back at Lockhart with a wary expression. He just knew there had to be a prank involved in this. He moved over to one side of the room while most of the others grouped in the middle. Harry held Hermione's hand as Susan, Hannah, Neville, Ron and Draco trailed behind them. A few of the more observant, and smarter, students slowly started moving towards Harry's group.

Lockhart closed the door behind him and shouted happily, "CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" The students all turned to watch as he swung his wand. The floor vanished, dunking the entire class into the huge pool, except for Harry and friends who were standing on the walkway by the wall.

Lockhart watched carefully and used his magic to assist those who were poor swimmers to the edge of the pool. It wouldn't do to drown any of his students, much as some of them might deserve it.

"CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" he yelled, again, laughing manically. "You were all told this room contained a pool, yet none of you thought it might be right under you!" He waved his wand a second time and dried the soaking wet, and very angry, students.

Harry and company were laughing so hard he thought they would wet themselves. Only Draco managed a mediocrum of decorum by chuckling instead of whole body laughs as the others did.

"All right! Witches' changing room is on the right," He pointed to a door on the right wall beside the entrance wall. "Wizards' is on the left," he indicated their door. "Swimming attire is in each locker and will automatically size to fit you. You each will select a locker by placing your hand on it. After today, your locker will appear in the changing room when you enter and disappear when you leave. Hurry up now, chop-chop!"

Ten minutes later the Wizards were staring at the swimsuit clad Witches, who were returning the favour. Both sexes were wearing turn-of-the-century one-piece suits, the only real difference between them was the girls' suits made allowances for chest size while the boys' suits were not as tight in the groin area. The universal colour on the students' faces seemed to be blushing red, the exceptions being the Muggle-born and a few of the Half-bloods. With any luck no one would drown because they were too distracted by the revealing costumes — although the Muggle-born and the more knowledgeable Half-bloods were disgusted at the conservative cut of the suits, especially the boy's almost full-body suits with shoulder straps and leggings that extended halfway to their knees.

Garry took control rather handily. "Today we're going to see how gillyweed works and meet a few dozen Grindylows in their native environment. Later we will learn the _Bubble-head_ Charm, which has many uses outside of underwater." Minutes later the entire class was once more in the pool.

The Pure-blood males found it a quite enlightening class, especially when they saw how clingy the wet suits were on the Witches when they climbed out of the pool at the end of class. The Witches, it appeared, were just as interested in what they saw, but with far more blushing.

It was, Lockhart, decided, a very successful introduction to the new D.A.D.A. course material. He knew the smarter students were already planning to use the _Bubble-head_ Charm in potions class to avoid noxious odours. The few students who didn't know how to swim he had quickly paired with others, with orders for them to practice in the pool as homework. Hermione and Luna seemed especially pleased at the prospect of teaching Harry what he needed to know, and showing him a certain amount of skin in the process.

Garry was sure that soon a request for an indoor pool at Grimmauld Place would make its presence known.

(⊙_◎)

Headmistress McGonagall had started several new classes at the school Garry was pleased to notice. First, all incoming new students were given a test on their knowledge of both Muggle and Wizarding worlds. Based on those results they either took a four-year class on Wizarding Traditions and culture or they took a four-year class on Muggle culture so they could pass as a Muggle without appearing as idiots in either dress or understanding technology — the first year was an overview, the other three went into details.

Similarly, tough rules on magic use outside of classrooms were in place, with a three-strikes rule implemented — first was points deduction, then detentions, then suspension. She tackled bullying head-on, with the same penalties. No one had "privileges" due to their station. This was not popular among the Pure-bloods, especially those in Slytherin, who felt their "rights" as naturally superior Wizards and Witches were being disregarded. They bitterly complained at the blatant discrimination forced onto them.

She had expanded Quidditch game days to be Parents Days as well, allowing parents to visit their children if they wanted. Muggle-born families had special arrangements so they could visit as well, and see their children using magic.

She brought back Slughorn for the pre-OWL students and allowed Snape to teach _only_ the students looking for a NEWT certificate. The rest of his time, he spent in research. He was almost pleasant, Garry was astonished to discover, with a wicked sarcastic wit. Slughorn also took over as Head of Slytherin House.

The Duelling Club was still ongoing, although separated into four groups so that students could always find a time that didn't conflict with their schedules.

(⊙_⊙)

The results of Yaxley's more thorough interrogation back at the Ministry were less than pleasing. Either Voldewhore had _obliviated_ him of the necessary memories, or a compatriot had done so. They had learned nothing of where the evil Wizard was hiding, who was helping him, or what his plans were, except possibly to kidnap Harry Potter.

Garry's alert charms around the old Riddle mansion were intact and untripped. A quick personal check revealed the building as empty as it had been when he had placed the charms over a year ago when he had visited the graveyard. He had renewed the charms, anyway, in the hope his enemy might make a mistake. He could only hope the plan for rebirth was going to be the same as it had been in his past.

He didn't dare do more from fear that the evil Wizard would detect it and ruin any possibility he had of stopping the resurrection. Or at least intercepting the results and dealing with the mad-wizard before he fled to parts unknown. It had always puzzled Harry as to why Voldewhore had been so insistent on having his resurrection on June 24th when the Summer Solstice was June 21 at 7:34 in the evening — which was 8:34 in Little Hangleton, an hour's time to the east. Was there perhaps a special boost to a revival ritual done three days after the solstice? Considering that the third Tri-Wizard task started at sundown, 10:34 in the evening and there was a three hour difference there, too, perhaps there was a special reason to delay the ritual. Three days later, three hours, three components to the ritual — perhaps that mattered? Whatever the reason, it seemed that Voldewhore was intent on repeating the ritual he had performed in Harry's future. Which was actually a relief. . . now Garry didn't have to worry that Voldewhore had found another method to resurrect himself.

Garry's only recourse was to proceed as if he knew nothing of the future past and concentrate on pranking . . . no, _assisting_ , he was _assisting_ . . . Harry in his preparations. The rest of the school, though . . . .

(◎_⊙)

The Christmas Ball went as Garry expected, except this time Fleur asked _him_ to be her date instead of Roger Davies as he remembered. Also different was Hermione and Luna attending as Harry's dates. Neville attended with Susan, and Hannah, making him the envy of most males at the function Garry was pleased to note, and taking attention from Harry. Harry was envied for his having two dates, sure, but his choices left much to be desired, according to the male population at Hogwarts. Hermione, while a beautiful date, had the reputation of a pushy know-it-all uninterested in the more feminine aspects of her personality, which put off most of the boys. They were looking for a girl a bit more deferential to their egos. And Luna was, well, Luna. Despite her ethereal beauty, her reputation as an oddball shook off almost all interest in her as a date. Ron came in with Draco and, to Garry's shock, did _not_ spend his time at the buffet table stuffing his face.

Garry had a wonderful time, and was entirely in his element — who knew dancing could be so much fun? He reserved most of his dances for Fleur, but whenever she had another partner, he found more than enough Witches interested in dancing with him. Fleur seemed annoyed, when she noticed, that he so easily managed to find a dance partner when she accepted a request from another student. She was more used to watching her dates pine for her from the sidelines when she wasn't right with them. He was, she appeared to finally realize, a challenge to her as a Veela. 33If she wanted to keep his attention then she would have to work at it. Her allure did nothing to help her. She had to rely entirely on her own intelligence, wit, and charm. A most unusual and challenging situation for her.

And _he_ was rather relieved _not_ to hear, via his listening charms, Ron and Hermione having a rocking row over her being someone else's date. That pairing was well and truly out of question. He could finally safely ignore the prat. Although with his jealousy under control, and his eating habits approaching those normal for most people, Garry could almost see him as a casual friend to Harry, which Garry could now support. Harry had enough friends as support that Ron's jealousies, should they arise, would not be nearly as personally devastating as they had been in Garry's future past.

Valentine's Day brought no changes to the romance scene, but did remind him of something that always had puzzled Garry in his first life: The number of students who had paired up while in Hogwarts and actually remained together as adults. At least until Volderwhore had done them in. Sure there was a lot of random dating and couples meeting and breaking up in that seven-year period, but when a couple declared themselves with an engagement, it _always_ lasted. And he wasn't counting those marriages arranged by the parents — those marriages usually had one or both spouses keeping significant others as "secret" lovers.

That magical teenagers would marry their sweethearts in school and stay married flew in the face of Muggle experience. In the Muggle world, those marriages rarely lasted and the divorce rate easily matched the marriage rate in the population. On the other hand, divorce in the Wizarding World was a rare occurrence — Celestina Warbeck's two divorces being the scandalous exception that proved the rule. Now that he had a chance to observe, though, he noticed something he had missed the first time around.

When he carefully watched couples, he noticed their magic seemed to shift with time. Was it possible that when a Wizard and Witch — or other combinations, such as Ron and Draco — spent enough time in a voluntary love-based relationship that their magic began to adapt them to each other? To smooth over the rough edges that would normally form stumbling blocks to a long-term marriage? It didn't _always_ work that way, as the adult Celestina proved, but mostly it did. Did the still growing magic of the teens make possible a flexibility that the adults' more rigid and settled magic did not?

Hermione and Harry seemed to "fit" together far better than he remembered them doing in his future. Certainly, without all the drama of that Harry-future had faced in his second, third, and fourth years, it was easier for the Wizard to form an attachment. That it blossomed so well in the here-and-now was gratifying.

The previous year's Christmas and Valentine's Day, Hannah and Susan had been sitting with Harry, but now they were with Neville. Had magic dissuaded them? Or was it that they were teenagers, and you simply could not predict what they were going to do next? Or had they decided that sharing Neville as _ménage à trois_ made more sense than _ménage à cinq_ with Harry?

Watching how Hermione and Luna seemed to accept sharing Harry without jealousy, and Harry's happy _equal_ acceptance of each girl seemed to support his conjecture that magic accommodated them. It had to be their magic working together that made a _ménage à trio_ s like that possible, because normally no Muggle-born Witch would agree to such an arrangement. Her background of only seeing and hearing about exclusive couples would make that almost impossible to accept. Two Muggle girls agreeing to share a boyfriend in the Muggle world was simply nothing that ever happened, or was extremely rare, especially when both clearly intended to marry their boyfriend at some point in the future.

When he reviewed his memories of couples who had married — and not an arranged marriage — soon after leaving Hogwarts, such as all the Weasleys, the Tonks, the Diggorys, and others, they seemed quite happy. Apparently, marrying your high school sweetheart (or sweethearts) in the magical world was not only possible, but a good long-term strategy for happiness!

That Harry would have a large family as a result was a foregone conclusion. With two wives, how could he not have a flock of kids? That would make Harry very, very happy, Garry knew. It made him somewhat envious, as well.

Although, now that he considered it, Fleur did seem to seek out his company, usually under the guise of questions regarding magical defence and his personal experiences in combating Dark Wizards. He had the impression that if he didn't sit at the Headmistress' Table that Fleur would have come over to his table and sat beside him rather frequently. And she did seem to spend quite a bit of her time in the Great Hall during meals looking over at him — but then again, so did a number of the other Witches, and a few Wizards, in the Great Hall. She certainly was taking a more hands-on approach than other Witches, frequently touching his arm while they talked or bumping her hip into him if they happened to be walking together as she asked questions about her classes. And while she wasn't the only Beauxbatons' student to send him a valentine, she delivered hers in person and blatantly flirted with him! There was none of the embarrassed red-face that the other Witches all sported when talking with their hoped-for beau.

Garry was truly happy that Harry was having the life Harry-future-past had never had. And he intended to live that life as vicariously as possible — oh, how he was going to spoil those kids when they reached the toddler age! To make sure that he could do so, though, he was going to have to convince the boy that he was more than welcome to bring his family into Grimmauld Place. He knew Sirius wouldn't object to that situation!

(⊙_◎)

The Second task was rather anti-climactic. Harry's hostage was Hermione, of course, Fleur's was Gabreille, Victor had a Beauxbaton's girl, and Cedric's was Cho Chang, just as last time in the future-past. Garry, as he had promised, stationed himself beside the hostages and made sure they were never in any danger whatsoever. He had also made sure, the night _before_ , that the four Champions understood that their "hostages" were in no danger whatsoever. Fleur, while upset at her sister being taken, wasn't anywhere near the state of near-panic she had been in during Garry's future-past life.

Cedric and Fleur once again used the Bubble-head Charm and swam down. As before, Fleur was waylaid by the Grindylows. Victor half-transformed to a shark and ended up accidentally biting his hostage trying to undo the ropes holding her to the village merman-statue.

Harry, though, took the marauder route and chopped two pieces of wood off the dock with a cutting hex. He transformed them into small tubes he attached to his ankles with a sticking charm. Then he cast a banishing spell on the insides that turned the tubes into mini-jets that shot him through the water at high speed. Like last time, he used gillyweed to adapt to underwater. He arrived at the hostages, freed Hermione, and shot back to the shore in well under half-an-hour. Unfortunately, though, he had to wait out the gillyweed's hour-long effect before getting out of the freezing water — that cost him a few points, but not nearly as many as Victor's biting his hostage.

Still, he had the best time and won the second task handily. Oddly enough, though, when Krum returned to his normal appearance he had waist-long blonde hair . . . . however did _that_ happen?

Although, watching Harry flounder in the pool in the dead of night learning how to manoeuvre with those jet-ski tubes and not end up with his knees against his chin spinning in circles underwater would be a treasured memory, and blackmail material, for the next hundred years, Garry decided.

Because Rita didn't trash Hermione this time, there wasn't a repeat of Hermione's trip to the Hospital Wing from booby-trapped hate mail in March. It helped that the Headmistress had changed the Castle enchantments to divert owls with curses and howlers to another room where the House-elves dealt with them. Aurors took the truly dangerous mail and tracked down the senders for an appropriate fine and punishment. Nevermore would Molly Weasley's dulcet tones reverberate around the castle as she berated her children for their various in-school transgressions. Thank Merlin.

(◎_◎)

Fleur, it appeared, had told her parents more than a bit about her Hogwarts' Defence Against the Dark Arts professor. And that she was interested in him, to Garry's stunned surprise.

The first he realized it was when a short and quite plump Wizard sought him out just after the Judges announced their scores for the Second Task. The man was nattily-dressed, with better than average looks, and wore high-heeled boots. He had a little, very pointed black beard.

Smiling as he approached, the Wizard bowed, saying, "Zhank you for the warning about our daughters, and for safe-guarding zhem as you did. I am Monsieur Edgar Delacour."

Smiling broadly, Garry replied, "And I am Monsieur Gilderoy Lockhart, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defence League, six-time winner of _Witch Weekly's_ Most-Charming-Smile Award, Hogwarts' beloved Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor, Slayer of Basilisks, and detector of Dark Wizards.

"Thank you for your kind words, but it is my job to safeguard all students at Hogwarts. I take the job very seriously — I do have a reputation to uphold, after all!"

The French Wizard gave the appearance of being a kind and jovial person. "Oui, that is as my daughter has told us." He paused a moment then continued, "On behalf of my wife and daughter, would you do use the honour of attending a small dinner party at our manor this Friday?" He held out a small ornate envelope.

Caught off guard by the invitation, Garry took the envelope and carefully opened it. The details were there, including a brief note at the bottom stating the letter itself was a portkey timed to bring him to their manor at the proper time. All he had to do was tap the envelope with his wand saying, "I accept," and the letter would notify, via an entry in the Delacours' Invitation Book at their home, that he intended to come. Then, on the proper date and at the right time, the portkey would activate. If he didn't accept, the letter remained inert.

The French Wizard bowed a second time, "Zhank you for your time, I must attend my wife and daughters now." His eyes flicked in the direction of the Hospital Tent where Madam Pomfrey was only now releasing her captives, er, patients. Krum carried off the long-haired blonde look quite well, Gary noted, although his scowl seemed etched in stone at Madam Pomfrey's inability to restore his proper hair colour. More than a few of the Witches in the audience seemed to like his new look.

Giving the French Wizard a broad smile in return, Garry said, "Yes, of course, I understand." Faced with the choice of creating an international scandal by refusing an invite from such an important figure in the Wizarding France government, or having the chance to meet and impress such a powerful figure, Garry took out his wand and tapped the invitation. "And, I would be delighted to attend your dinner party."

Gilderoy had only dreamed of making such an important contact, and Garry was quite pleased to see the invitation give a soft glow in response. And to note Monsieur Delacour's acknowledging nod.

That Friday, the portkey delivered him to the patio behind the Delacour Manor. His ensemble was a light plum that he felt suited the occasion. Tucked into one of his expanded pockets was his complete autobiographical collection. These were the deluxe editions, with additional sidenotes and an extra chapter each. The last two books, _Burrowing with a Basilisk,_ and _Restraining a Rat_ also had both Harry Potter's and Hermione Granger's autographs. The latter had been astonished to be included in the signings. And thrilled. He had wanted to include Ginny Weasley's autograph, as well, but her part in the Basilisk affair was a secret that he could not allow out.

There were two other families attending the party, apparently close friends of the adult Delacours.

Garry played the Lockhart card fully. By the time he left, Fleur's parents, and their other guests, were giving her sidelong looks that clearly said, "Are you kidding me? You LIKE this prat?" And Fleur was giving him a glare that threatened to melt the polar icecaps. Oh, to be a fly on the wall as Fleur attempted to tell her parents that Garry wasn't really the awful dandified twit he had appeared as that evening.

Gabrielle, Fleur's younger sister, thought he was hilarious and by the end of the evening was saying his signature "Order of Merlin, Third Class. . . ," spiel in synchronization with him, to both their amusements.

The second invitation had been a surprise and he began to suspect that maybe Fleur was more serious about this than he had thought. And she was a very attractive young Witch with, he had discovered, a delightful wicked wit. For that second visit, instead of a bottle of wine, he had brought a small vial of ground Basilisk bone and a signed Wizarding photograph of him standing in front of the dead Basilisk. The parents had been much more approving when he left that evening. That he had spent much less conversation telling everyone how great he was and more on how Wizarding society in Great Britain needed to change probably helped.

Things progressed to the point where the invitations were almost weekly. Fleur's complaint about Garry's swimming pool prank, which he had pulled on every class, had caught Gabby's attention, and in answer to her questions he had described a few of his other pranks. Gabby, it appeared, loved pranks! And on his next dinner engagement, he had discovered that Gabby had clearly declared to her parents that if Fleur didn't want him, she would gladly take up the burden.

Garry discovered he quite enjoyed his time spent with Fleur. He found himself looking forward to each invitation as an opportunity to be with her without being under the watchful eyes of the entire school! Plus, as his dating the young Part-Witch hadn't occurred in his future-past, he didn't need to guard himself against inadvertently revealing something of the future-possible.

He did manage, though, to slip her a protection ring on her birthday. It was a simple copper ring that would react with a _protego_ -like shield if it detected harmful magic headed towards the wearer — just in case an _imperioused_ Champion might sneak into the maze.

That he had replaced Bill Weasley as her probable partner did not disturb him in the slightest. If Bill had been her one and only destined mate, then nothing Garry could do would change that. If Bill was going to win the Witch, then Garry and Fleur would breakup over the summer. If she didn't, well, then, maybe she preferred him over Bill because of his sheer power as a Wizard — that they were both immune to her Veela-aura put them on equal footing in that respect. Last time, he had only been a "little boy" and not suitable as partner, especially considering his teenage angst and tendency to hide from others. But now? Well, he was a powerful adult and wasn't afraid to let others know it — being humble was not part of Lockhart's personality, and Garry was certainly keeping to that reputation.

(⊙_◎)

Garry and Dobby had culled the Death Eater ranks to the point where Voldewhore would find little to no response when he sent out his call at the end of his rebirth in the Graveyard, should things go pear-shaped and that happen as it had in his future. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's "Inner Circle" minions were either dead or trapped in Azkaban. The other minions, those still alive, were in greatly reduced circumstances and couldn't just leave their jobs in response to his call without _losing_ those jobs. And none of them were well-off enough to just give up their livelihoods. Without his financiers, Voldewhore would be hard-pressed to pay his people, or even to provide for himself, now that Lockhart owned and had emptied his vaults — and those of his followers. And losing Yaxley, and access to his vault, had been a big blow to the not-quite-dead Wizard's plans.

Those Death Eaters still alive had gone to ground quite thoroughly, doing nothing that might draw the attention of the DE-Vigilante, as they called him. Getting his attention, they knew, was a sure death sentence. And the Ministry's new policies of automatically arresting anyone with a Death Eater mark and interrogating him or her with veritaserum didn't help them, either. Thirty-seconds under veritaserum was a one-way ticket to Azkaban as a simple question, "have you committed any illegal acts?" led to a litany of gruesome murders they had participated in during the first War, including half-bloods and those they called blood-traitors. Not to mention battles they had fought with Aurors, which in itself was a crime with Azkaban time as punishment. And if an Auror died during one of those battles, well, that guaranteed a long stay in the Wizarding prison. And even without _that_ , there were the other crimes they had committed — bribery, fraud, and theft to name just a few.

And the rollback of the constricting laws passed by the previously Dark-influenced Wizengamot had gone a long ways towards restoring equality for the non-Pure-bloods. The political climate was decidedly anti-Dark, meaning no one could bribe their way out of a trial or sentence. The new required oaths promising that the Wizengamot members, and the bureaucrats, would be fair honest in their dealings in the Ministry, as best as they could, had eliminated corruption. Anyone violating those oaths would find their magic forcing them to confess their misdeed to their supervisor and then the Aurors, and appropriate punishments issued. Wizengamot members would confess their misdeeds at the next scheduled meeting and, again, the appropriate punishments would be assigned.

Sirius and Remus had taken _The Gilderoy Lockhart Investment Fund_ and pushed it hard. There were now several dozen _new_ businesses in the Wizarding World. Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade were booming with customers. The Weasley twins' "Telly" shop was a grand hit — they had managed to launch it just in time for Christmas. They had a staff of a dozen doing nothing but adapting the Muggle devices to the magical environment and selling them as fast as they could produce them. Their summer experiment to keep Bell happy had paid off in huge dividends. All they had to do was produce those OWLS and NEWTS at Hogwarts to keep Sirius and Remus backing their store.

Far too soon, the third and final Tri-wizard task was upon them. There was a heavy Auror presence as the other two countries involved had contributed their share to the protective force. Having them patrol in threes would prevent any interference by a hidden Death Eater. And, when two patrols met, they traded a partner. That made it effectively impossible for Voldemort to somehow manage to get a Death Eater from each country onto the same triad for more than a quarter of an hour, or for one Death Eater to control the other two — far shorter than the time the Champions were expected to be in the maze.

At Garry's insistent suggestion, there was a reflection spell in place over the maze that allowed the spectators to easily see and follow the champions as they traversed the maze. The Champions, however, would see nothing if they looked up.

He suspected he would find himself torn between following Harry and following Fleur, his now unofficial "girlfriend." She would become his fiancée after she graduated in a few weeks. He quite looked forward to that. Her fiery nature translated to rather torrid moments when the two were alone — nothing more inappropriate than snogging, but wow, what snogging!

"Ah, Minister Bones!" Garry said happily as he caught sight of the harried Witch. "Everything looks wonderful. You must have checked everything at least three times yourself, just as I would have done in your place. Unfortunately, my duties here at the school precluded me from providing any assistance otherwise things would be flawless!" He was posed perfectly in the waning sunlight as dusk approached so as to give the impression he _had_ done all the work, beaming with pride as he looked out over the hedge maze.

He pretended not to notice her rolling her eyes.

"By the way, has anyone checked the Trophy Cup for alterations to its portkey destination? It wouldn't do, would it, to have our winning champion stolen out from under our noses by such a simple tactic?"

"Yes, Gil," the Minister said a bit frostily, "I personally checked the trophy this morning. It has one destination portkey spell on it, set to enable as soon as the first Champion enters the maze."

"Wonderful!" gushed Garry. "And you never let it out of your sight until you placed it in the maze centre yourself, right?" He flashed a brilliant smile at her. "And put an alarm spell on it so that should anyone come within five feet of it you would know? With a second alarm spell on the first that would go off if someone tries to dispel the first?"

Minister Bones stared at him. It wasn't difficult to pick up her frustration with him, mingled with a bit of chagrin that he was right, she hadn't put any alarm spells on the trophy cup. She had just verified the cup's existing spells.

She smiled at him, a very non-humorous smile that said _I'm doing this just to keep you happy and not because it really needs to be done and because I know you won't shut up about it until I do._ "That's a splendid idea, a last minute check."

Sourly, she turned and waved at a nearby trio of Aurors. A moment later, the four of them trudged off towards the maze.

Garry laughed to himself. He had already apparated to the cup and checked it over just a few minutes ago. It was clean, it would not portkey the winner away from Hogwarts. There were no signs of any tampering at all.

There were also no signs of any activity at the graveyard, either.

It was all very worrying. Perhaps he had been a little too thorough in eliminating Death Eaters. In any case, all he could do was soldier on and hope for the best. He turned and with a jaunty walk headed back to the Great Hall for a little last minute pranking . . . _advice_ , _advice_ , he going to be giving the boy a bit of _advice_.

"Remember, Harry," Garry said as they walked down to the Tri-wizard maze. "If anything goes wrong and you need to escape, the emergency portkey phrase is 'there's no place like home,' and it'll bring you straight back to here. Oh, and don't forget to click your heels together three times while you say that, that's very important, don't you know." He smiled down at short Wizard who was staring back at him with a sceptical expression. Garry wondered how long it would take the boy to notice that his shoes were now a gleaming ruby-red.

"And just to keep Sirius happy I've placed about a dozen tracking spells on your person and clothes. If anything happens, I, Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defence League, six-time winner of _Witch Weekly's_ Most-Charming-Smile Award, Hogwarts' beloved Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor, Slayer of Basilisks, and detector of Dark Wizards, will be right there before you can say 'Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defence League, six-time winner of _Witch Weekly's_ Most-Charming-Smile Award, Hogwarts' beloved Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor, Slayer of Basilisks, and detector of Dark Wizards.'"

"By the time I say that, it _will_ be too late!" Harry exclaimed, He sighed deeply. "Is all that really necessary, Gil? I mean, isn't all this overkill? After all, the second task went perfectly."

Garry waffled a bit before saying quietly, "Harry, I'll let you in on a little secret." He paused and leaned closer. "This, and the next week, are Voldewhore's last chance to get at you before you're at Grimmauld Place and beyond his reach for the summer. In his present form, he might not survive until Fall. So, no, this is not overkill. In fact, no one knows this, but I plan to take you home tonight rather than risk you here at the school."

Harry looked back at him solemnly and slowly nodded.

"Now, give 'em hell, Harry!" Garry finished as he gave the boy a slight push towards the judging stand, in front of which the other Champions were waiting with Ludo Bagman. Garry tuned out what the windbag was saying as he carefully looked over the crowd in the stadium. He waved to Sirius and Remus, and the rest of the family, in the stands — Sirius looked to be laughing at Harry's new footwear. He turned back to the four Champions just as Harry joined him. Harry was too nervous to notice the odd looks everyone was giving his flashy ruby-red shoes.

Bagman blew his whistle and off Harry trotted.

Garry split his attention between the crowd watching the reflected maze and Harry. He was interested to see that unlike his time in the maze, Harry was having a bit of a rougher experience and running into far more creatures than he had. It seems that Crouch had made Harry-future-past's way through the maze easier. Well, good, at least this time the Maze was a challenge to _all_ of the Champions, with no one receiving unfair advantages! Well, except for the fact that Harry was a Fourth Year while the other three were Seventh Years. Hmm. In that case, was making Harry's way through the maze easier unfair or merely making up for the unfair advantage the other three had over him? Oh, well, it didn't matter. Garry didn't care if Harry reached the Trophy Cup, just that he emerge from the Third Task unharmed.

This time, without the Death Eater's interference, it was much more of a race than before. Harry, though, had a different thought process than the others and his solutions were sometimes a bit more straightforward. His response to the Blast-ended Skrewt was pure marauder — he disillusioned himself and casted a spell projecting the image of a second, smaller Skrewt peering around the last turning several yards behind Harry. The real skrewt, seeing the smaller one, instantly moved to attack, charging around the corner in pursuit of the retreating image and forgetting entirely about Harry. Or, perhaps, wanting to eliminate the competition before getting to his snack. In either event, Harry rapidly ran to the next maze turn before the Skrewkt discovered his deception.

Unlike like the future-past, though, all four Champions reached the maze center at the same time. The four Champions made rather quick work of the Acromantula, and then faced off against each other. There was no argument this time over who should grab the Trophy first, it was a simple race — that ended in a _tie_! As in Harry's future, nevertheless, the moment they touched the Trophy, they were portkeyed away.

This time, however, they appeared sprawling on the judges' platform and not in a dirty, decrepit, dangerous graveyard. After a brief moment's confusion, Bagman rallied and immediately started congratulating his four winners as they clambered to their feet. He approached Cedric first and pumped his hand up and down like he was trying to pump water from an old-fashioned iron water pump. He finally let go and turned to Victor, repeating his incessant hand shaking and congratulations before turning to Fleur, and finally to Harry. He pulled Harry slightly away from the other Champions, separating him from them as he congratulated the young Wizard.

That was when it happened. Ludo let go of Harry's hand and slapped him on the shoulder with his left hand. As soon as the older Wizard lifted his hand, Harry disappeared.


	30. Chapter 30 Silent as the Grave

**30\. Silent as the Grave.**

Garry stared, momentarily stunned, but then sprang into action. A quick wave of his wand and the various tracking charms on the boy began displaying their results. The three standard tracking charms reported nothing, indicating that the tags he had placed did not exist.

Clearly, enchantments at Harry's destination prevented those tags from working.

The three he had used in the middle of the future-past war detected _their_ tags, but merely indicated the boy was to the south and east, and between three hundred and a thousand miles away.

It was the tracking spell taught to him by the Chinese Wizard near the end of that future-past war, however, delivered clear information. It revealed the boy had been portkeyed to a location that should be Little Hangleton, if he remembered correctly.

That contradicted his alarm charms in Little Hangleton, which were silent and indicated that nothing out of the ordinary was happening in the tiny village, decayed Mansion, or graveyard. Voldewhore must have detected Lockhart's alarm spells and subverted them or prevented them from working. In retrospect, Garry should have expected that — Voldewhore always had been extraordinarily cautious when he was weak. This time, because someone had attacked and killed so many of his minions, perhaps he had placed himself under a _fidelius_ charm. The attention brought by the public kidnapping, and the variety of tracking charms on the boy, negated most of the protections provided by the _fidelius_. The charm can only hide you if you don't do anything monumentally stupid that reveals your presence, such as moving things not covered by the magic.

People were only just beginning to react. An alert Auror had hit Bagman with a stunner as soon as Harry had disappeared — the self-important promoter had probably been under an _imperius —_ and the head of the DMLE was hurrying over to investigate. Minister Bones was gone, her security squad had portkeyed her to the Ministry almost at the same time that Bagman had been stunned — they were taking no chances on an assassination attempt. The other foreign dignitaries were similarly being hustled away by their paranoid security forces.

Garry quickly cast his _patronus_ , momentarily surprised when a magpie appeared instead of his peacock or stag. "Find Minister Bones, tell her that Harry has been portkeyed to Little Hangleton, a village about two hundred miles north of London. I believe that's where Voldemort is, as well. I'm going there now and will send another _patronus_ as I find out more. Get a team of Aurors and Unspeakables ready." The bird rapidly flew off.

He took a quick look around and saw both Remus and Sirius headed his way. He assumed that the Tonks and Bell were headed for the Hogwarts Gates and home. Rather than face the two men and try to explain that he didn't want their help — there was no way he was going to risk their lives in this situation and possibly deprive Harry of their presence in his life. He took off Sam the Sorting Hat and cancelled the disillusionment charm on it. He tossed Sam as if it were a pointy Frisbee to Sirius, getting an outraged "HEY!" from the Sorting Hat as he did so. He gave the approaching Wizards a broad smile and cheery wave as he spun on his heel and disapparated.

He apparated into a small clearing not far from the Riddle family graveyard but well beyond any alarm enchantments that the Death Eaters might have emplaced. His four tracking charms confirmed that Harry was less than a mile away, and his direction.

Lockhart disillusioned himself, silenced his breathing, footsteps, and anything else that might give him away by sound, scent, or visually, and then camouflaged his movements with a spell that restored wherever he stepped to its original condition — you would have to watch exactly where he stepped to see the momentary outline of his shoes. A final set of _Notice-me-not_ s, both Muggle and Magical, completed the set. He was as nearly invisible as it was possible to get without being a ghost. As he expected, _point-me_ merely made his wand spin uselessly. His specialized tracking spell still worked, though — it hadn't yet been detected. He pulled out his broom, enlarged it, and took off as quickly as he dared move — which _wasn't_ as fast as he _could_ move. He didn't want to fly into a trap, after all. Once was enough for that!

Barely five minutes after the abduction he found himself approaching the graveyard at a speed barely above walking. He felt the Magical and Muggle _Notice-me-not_ enchantments put up by a Death Eater, or the Dark Lord himself, as he passed through them at the edge of the graveyard. Voldy, it appeared, didn't want to be disturbed. If Garry hadn't been focused on following his tracking spell, it might have worked, too.

But . . . had he cancelled the Oath he and Bellatrix had sworn as he had meant to do? Had he covered everything needed? If things went completely pear-shaped the poor girl might accidentally invoke one of the penalties while at Hogwarts or later in her life. It would be irresponsible of him to allow that situation to remain! He knew he had spoken with her . . . .

(◎_⊙)

"Ah, Bell! There you are!" He had found her in the game room watching a Disney movie — like most girls her apparent age she was quite enamoured of the Disney Princesses. "Could I have a few minutes of your time?"

Shrugging, she hit the pause button and followed him back to his Study.

He carefully closed the door behind them, and discretely erected several privacy charms. It wouldn't do for anyone to hear what they discussed or did for the next several minutes. "Bella," he said as he turned to her with a flourish, "You'll be eight years old in a few weeks and I thought I would give you some early birthday presents — Harry will grab the limelight when he wins the Tri-Wizard Tournament, you know." Her eyes lit up and she bounced on her feet like an excited house-elf.

"First, is this!" he held out an open box with a twelve and three-quarter-inch long wand, made of Walnut with a dragon heartstring core.

Her eyes opened wide, "A wand," she barely breathed out. She looked at him, shocked. "A real wand?" she asked hardly believing it to be true and hoping it wasn't a prank.

Garry smiled broadly, "A real wand, just as surely as I am Gilderoy Lockhart!" He paused as if he were about to give his customary spiel, but her eyes were unwavering on the wand in his hand and she missed his pseudo-prank. He sighed. "Here, take this." He held out the box and she slowly reached for it, still half-expecting a prank. "Not the box, silly, take the wand."

She gingerly took the wand in her right hand and gave it a small wave. Multi-coloured sparks burst from the end.

"Excellent!" Garry cried out excitedly. He hadn't been sure that the wand, made exactly as her old one, would still be appropriate for her after her de-aging and new life for the past two years — especially given how radically different her new upbringing was compared to her previous experiences in her father's mansion. That old buzzard hadn't had the slightest bit of humour in his soul — a true Scrooge from the sounds of him.

"Now hold your wand like this," he held his wand up and at a slight angle towards her. She imitated his stance and did so. "Now touch the tip to mine and hold it there for a few moments." She did. "I'll answer your questions when we finish, alright?" She nodded. She would agree with almost anything to get her own wand!

"I, Lord Gilderoy Lockhart-Black-Potter-Peverell-Gryffindor-Slytherin-Gaunt declare now and for all time that Bellatrix Lestange née Black, also known as Belladonna Bellatrix Black, has satisfied all conditions and requirements of the Magical Oath we both swore on May 16th, 1992. I have provided her with the galleons promised, now residing in her personal vault at Gringotts, and she is free to come and go as she pleases. I have no farther expectations from her and will provide familial protections and assistance, as she needs. She has no farther expectations beyond those provided by any family for a member of the family. Therefore, I declare that Magical Oath complete, null, and void, without any enforcement or punishment powers whatsoever. So mote it be!"

Bell stared at him, jaw dropped open in surprise and shock.

"Say, 'I release Gilderoy Lockhart from said Oath.'" She did.

"Now say, 'So mote it be." She did.

"Excellent!" he exclaimed, lowering his wand to waist level. She stared at him. He could feel her curiosity and the questions boiling up in her mind.

Before she could voice any of them, however, he said, " _Obliviate_!"

Her eyes turned blank and she swayed slightly.

He gently relieved her of her wand and replaced it in its box. He stashed it in an expanded pocket and pulled out something else. This package was gaily wrapped in paper with balls of light flashing around on it. From its size and shape one could expect it to be a book.

"And here's your first present!" he declared holding the package out to her.

She blinked uncertainly, but then, with eyes shining in anticipation, the young girl quickly shredded the wrapping paper to reveal _1,001 Spells, Charms, Jinxes, and Hexes Every Wizard and Witch Should Know_. "Wow!" she breathed softly as she eagerly opened the book and glanced through it — while the Black library had many books, most had protective enchantments to prevent under-aged children from accessing them. Which meant the only books she could read spoke only in general terms or were fiction or completely non-magical. After a moment, she looked up at him, "This is so cool." She clutched it to her chest and hugged it as if it were a pet.

Smiling broadly, Garry held out a second package. She put the book on the study desk and just as quickly as before removed similar wrapping paper from the box and opened it. Momentarily puzzled, she held up a leather contraption with two belts.

"It's a wand holster," Garry explained. "Dragon-skin leather, with concealment, comfort, anti-summoning, and protection charms. Here, let me show you." He took the holster from her. "Hold your right arm out." She did, and he quickly fastened the holster in place. "While you are wearing it," he said, "no one can take it from you and only a very powerful cutting charm can harm it. To make it invisible, place your left-hand fingers on it and say 'invisible.' Then say 'visible' to see it again." She did that, too, making it disappear and reappear repeatedly. "When it's invisible, if someone grabs your arm, they won't feel it. It fits so well and is so comfortable that after a while you might even forget you're wearing it! Also, it has three compartments; one for a wand, one for a knife, and the third for whatever you want, such as a forever-ink quill."

"Wow!" She was truly speechless.

He waited as she admired her present. Finally, she looked up at him and said, "This is wonderful." She sighed, "But I won't have a wand for three more years." She glanced wistfully at the book on the desk.

Garry laughed as he held out a third package, a long box with square ends.

Bell's eyes seemed to double in size and she stared at the box and then at Garry and then at the box. Almost not breathing she tentatively reached out and took the box. This time she slowly removed the wrapping paper to reveal a simple cardboard box. Hands shaking, she opened it and stared at the revealed wand. It was short, barely six inches long, with a handle made of a different wood shaped to fit her small hand. She looked back up at him, disbelief plain. "A real wand!?"

Garry laughed again, humour present in his tone as he said, "Yes, Bell, a _real_ wand. Made of Walnut wood with a dragon heartstring core." He paused a moment as she slowly took the wand out of the box. "It's a training wand, with special runes that prevent you from casting spells your magic can't handle. Every time you touch it, it measures your magical ability and won't let you do _anything_ that might harm you."

She waved the wand and a few bright sparks shot out the end.

"Children are allowed wands only after they turn eleven because before then their magic is unstable and unreliable. Using a wand before you're eleven can actually hurt you in the long term and stunt your magical growth by dangerously straining your magic at a young age. This wand, however, adjusts to your present abilities, and that will never happen. Unlike a regular wand, with this wand if you try to cast a spell your magic can't handle, nothing happens. A regular wand would attempt to do the spell and allow you to hurt yourself."

Bell gave him a brief glance before waving the wand again to watch the sparks fly. She _was_ listening. She just couldn't take her eyes off _her_ new wand.

"That book," Garry indicated the book on the desk by pointing with his chin, "has 1,001 spells, but only about ten of them are within your abilities right now. _Lumos_ and _nox_ are two that you know, you've seen all the adults use those two so you know what they do. Whisper _lumos_."

" _Lumos_ ," came the soft response. The tip of the wand glowed just as softly.

"For the other three spells, you'll have to search the book to find them!"

She stared at the end of her wand, then whispered _nox_. She threw herself at Garry wrapping her arms around him and saying, "Thank you, thank you, thank you," in a steady stream.

Garry patted her on the back. "Remember, the wand tracks your magical ability, so if you do a spell a bunch of times and drop your magical ability low enough, the wand will stop working! The same is true if you try to do a bunch of spells. Then you'll have to wait until your reserves replenish themselves _completely_ before you can cast another spell. So when the wand stops working, you are _done_ for the day!"

"I'm the luckiest girl in the world to have you as my Uncle! I love you!" Bell said, her face still buried in his side.

"Thank you, Bell," he replied softly. "You don't know how much that means to me!"

"Okay, then," he said, pushing her back a bit to look her in the face. "You can't tell anyone that you have a wand! And you have to promise you won't try to use someone else's wand, no matter how tempted you may be!"

Her face fell. She had been so looking forward to telling everyone about her new wand and wand holster.

He smiled down at her, "Just imagine the pranks you can now pull if no one knows you have a wand! Padfoot will blame Moony, Moony will blame Tonks, and Tonks will blame Padfoot. And you'll be laughing yourself silly at all of them. They will _never_ think that _you_ cast the spell that changed their hair to Slytherin colours because that requires a wand, and they _know_ you don't have a wand! Just remember, pranks are to make people laugh, not to hurt them or humiliate them."

She stared back up at him for a moment, eyes shining in glee, then she smirked. "I _know_ Uncle Gil." Then she smiled to herself, imagining all the mischief she could do without anyone suspecting her.

"And if you do try to use another Wizard or Witch's wand, you _will_ hurt yourself, even if it doesn't feel like it at the time! So promise! You have your own wand, don't use another's! If you do — and I'll know, don't you think otherwise — I'll be forced to confiscate your wand! And just think how awful it will be to know that you _had_ a wand and _lost_ it because you wanted to try someone else's wand."

She nodded rapidly, clutching the wand to her chest, "I promise, Uncle Gil! I promise! I'll only ever use this wand!"

"And you'll be the terror of Hogwarts when you arrive — 1,001 spells already under your belt!" He grinned, "But you'll have to read the entire book to find out which spells work today and which ones will have to wait until you're older. After you've mastered a dozen or two you'll begin to get a feel for which ones you can do and which ones are for later.

"And the wand and holster will be our little secret, won't they?"

The ecstatic girl nodded energetically.

"Okay, let me show you how the wand holster works . . . ."

Of course, everything he had said about the wand was a lie. The de-aging potion he had given her had physically reduced her age, but hadn't changed her magical abilities except to slightly reduce her total capacity. Bell still had a very powerful magical core, far more powerful and stable than any child her apparent age.

The runes concealed under the wand handle's top layer of wood were rather simple; they limited the power through the wand until she had used about one percent of her actual strength. And being a shorter version of the wand than was natural for her also would limit the power of the spells she could cast. The runes would slowly increase that power limit until she would be at full strength when she went to get her "first" wand from Olivanders in three years. Until then, she would be more than happy to play with _her_ wand instead of pirating one of the adults, as he knew she would have done otherwise. That would have been a disaster as everyone discovered she had an adult's capability at such a young age. And raised questions that Garry did not want _anyone_ to even begin to think about asking.

(⊙_⊙)

No, after careful thought, he had taken care of the Oath and told Bell everything she needed to know.

He looked up and realized that he was almost back to where he had started! That damned Voldewhore, in addition to the _notice-me-nots_ , had put up anti-magicals and anti-muggles charms! The anti-magicals enchantment had subtly made him redirect his flight while he was lost in thought. He cursed a bit, then turned around and headed towards the graveyard, again. This time he wouldn't allow himself to be distracted. He had taken care of everything he needed to do _before_ the Third Task had started. He didn't need to return to Hogwarts and fix the "Incoming New Students" book of names to reflect that Belladonna hadn't already graduated. Being Head of Gryffindor and Slytherin Houses had granted him easy access to that book and it took only a few minutes to affix the necessary charm. Bella would get her letter right on her eleventh birthday, just as she was supposed to. And her name would appear as Belladonna Bellatrix Black, just as _it_ was supposed to. Lestrange would _not_ appear. He had even fixed the Castle Enchantments so that the Headmistress or Headmaster would only see her corrected name if they should directly examine the Castle's protective enchantments. Even Harry's Marauders' Map would show her name as Belladonna Black.

Sam! The Sorting Hat! He hadn't forgotten to tell the Sorting Hat what needed to be done, had he?

(◎_⊙)

"Ah, Mr. Lockhart!" Sam said almost as soon as Garry dropped the Hat on his head. "I've missed your company; the Headmistresses office is so _dull_! What new adventure are we about to embark upon?" The Hat shifted slightly, then settled.

"Ah," said Garry, "Sorry, Sam, no adventures this time. I just wanted to warn you that Bellatrix Black is going to be coming in three years to be sorted again."

". . . ."

Garry could feel Sam's curiosity. "Ur, yes. Well, you see, I kidnapped her from Azkaban, then de-aged her after removing all her memories from age six on up. It was either that or kill her and I didn't want to do that. She _is_ a Black, after all. And with Sirius, Remus, and Nymphadora living with her at Twelve Grimmauld Place, I'm sure we can prevent her from following the path she did the last time. She certainly has no problems with Halfbloods and Muggleborns the way she used to! In fact, she seems to regard most Purebloods as complete twits, suitable only for pranking!" He sighed. "Which means, I'm sure, that she'll fall arse-over-teakettle for a pureblood before she graduates."

". . . ."

"Well, anyway, I wanted to warn you that I, as Lord Gryffindor and Lord Slytherin, command you to _not_ reveal anything to her or _anyone else_ about her previous life as Bellatrix. I don't care what House you sort her to, although I would _prefer_ it not be Slytherin, if you can help it. I want her to have a fun time here and not become the insane Dark Arts obsessed bitch she used to be."

"I will do as you command Lord Gryffindor-Slytherin. I will not reveal her past to anyone, especially not to the girl, herself."

"Thank you, Sam."

Sam shifted and seemed to lean over slightly, as if leaning closer — an odd sensation considering Garry was wearing Sam on his head. "Mr. Lockhart . . . Mr. Potter . . . you seem to have integrated your personalities rather well. There is no dividing line between the two of you the way there used to be. Might I take a closer look?"

Garry shrugged. Maybe Sam would be able to determine exactly what had happened.

"Hmm. Oh. Ah. No? Oh. I see. Hmm. Oh dear. Ahh!" Sam shifted around Garry's head, as if he were walking around him. "Most interesting." There was a long pause, then, "Thank you."

"Well?" demanded Garry. "What did you find?"

For a moment, he thought Sam wasn't going to respond.

"Well," Sam finally said, "That spell that hit you was apparently a prelude to a possession attempt, but you escaped before the possession could take place. The spell seemed to have had two components, the first was to crush down the personality in the brain of the one being possessed, in this case, Mr. Potter, because he was the one in control at that point. Your escape, while fortuitous, would have left a normal Wizard comatose for many months with his personality knocked out. In your case, with your two personalities already in place, it simply put Mr. Lockart in control while you slumbered.

"The second component, the active part, was to merge all the memories of the subverted personality with the controlling personality, making them one and destroying the subverted personality in the process. In your case, Mr. Potter was the _dominant_ personality even though Mr. Potter was asleep. It appears that after all the memories were combined the spell tried to establish Mr. Lockhart as the dominate personality, and failed. And in that failure, it simply merged the two personalities into a new one.

"So, Mr. Lockhart, you are now one new person with the traits and strengths of both, as well as the defects and weaknesses. Fortunately, most of the strengths and traits of one compensate for the weaknesses and defects of the other. You are a rather well-rounded personality as a result . . . who enjoys pranks far too much." The Hat shifted again. "I must say, I approve!"

Garry sat there in shock — Voldewhore had developed a spell to aide him in his possession of others. Probably that was what had made it so easy for Quirrell to accept and adjust to his possession. Only Harry's typical fantastic last-minute luck in escaping had really saved them.

"Well," he finally said. "That's interesting." Still in a bit of a daze, he said "Thank you for your help." Sam tilted, his version of nodding assent. Garry slowly walked out of the Headmistress' Office.

Garry spent several days contemplating what he had learned and his narrow escape.

(⊙_◎)

Garry looked around and realized he had once again started to leave the graveyard. Damnit! This was annoying as hell. He sighed and then used a sticking charm to make sure he remained on his broom. Then he cast another spell that locked the broom onto a course to follow his tracking spell, regardless of any attempt he might make to change course. It would remain in effect until he was close enough to hear or see what was really happening in the graveyard, at which point the anti-magical enchantment would fail to affect him and he could safely take control again.

For the third time he set out for the graveyard and Harry Potter.

Gingrotts! Ragnurk! Had he done everything needed? Besides updating his Will, had he forgotten anything?

(◎_◎)

"So, here's my new Will and Last Testament, Ragnurk," Lockhart said, handing over the parchment. The Wizard settled back in his chair as he waited for the Goblin to read the new legal papers.

Ragnurk had still sneered at him as he entered the plush office reserved for the Goblin in charge of Lockhart's accounts, which also included the accounts of Black, Potter, Peverell, Gryffindor, Slytherin, and Gaunt, although the sneer wasn't nearly as impressive as it used to be. In fact, for a Goblin, it might even be termed "welcoming."

Now the largest single depositor at Gringotts, the lower-ranked Goblins treated Lockhart almost like royalty. Watching them rush around and kowtow to him was most gratifyingly. Even more amusing was watching the reactions of the other Wizards and Witches in the main lobby at those very uncharacteristic actions. It was quite satisfying on several levels.

The Goblin looked up at him. "You are relinquishing Head of House of Potter, Gryffindor, and Peverell to the Potter Heir when he reaches majority or immediately if you become incapacitated or die," he stated.

"Yes," affirmed Garry. "They are rightfully his."

The Goblin grunted. "House Black is to go to Miss Belladonna Bellatrix Black under the same conditions."

"Yes," affirmed Garry, again. "Sirius has declared he has no interest in assuming that seat, and he doubts he can father any children, anyway, considering his time in Azkaban. I did bequeath him rather large amounts of Galleons so he will not lack for funds, in any event."

Ragnurk did sneer at him, "I can read." _So stop wasting my time telling me something I already know_ was the subtext. "However," he continued, his expression clearly indicating he thought Garry was an idiot, "House Black can only be inherited by a Wizard, thus she is ineligible."

Lockhart grinned, and handed him a second parchment to read. "Sirius Black agrees to act as Temporary Head of House Black, until she has a son, at which point she will become regent. The inheritance laws do not restrict regency to Wizards, although that is the _custom_. Should she die before that happens, then Head of House devolves to Nymphadora Tonk's son, as those parchments indicate."

The Accounts' Manager studied both parchments for a few minutes, then referred to an ancient inheritance laws book. Then pulled out an even older book for farther study. Finally, he set the books aside and studied the parchments again. Reluctantly, he nodded. A sly look crossed his face. "It will be quite expensive preparing all the correct paperwork for this."

"Naturally," the Wizard said, his own expression bland. "Just so long as it cannot be successfully challenged and overthrown."

The Goblin grunted assent, but his smirk was easily visible. He looked back at the Will, then said, "Houses Lockhart and Gaunt are to go to your sisters' sons or daughters, should any of them become a Wizard or Witch, or throwing the accounts into dormancy should they not. Being lesser Houses there are no restrictions preventing Witches from being the Head of House.

"These will be filed today and the appropriate supporting documentation provided," Ragnurk concluded.

"Excellent! And before we go farther, Ragnurk," Garry said, leaning forward to hand another parchment to the Goblin.

The Goblin read the short note, then looked up at the Wizard, fury evident in his expression.

Unperturbed, Lockhart nodded. "That's correct, if Gringotts or any Goblin, Wizard, Witch, or agent in their employ should reveal or acknowledge that Belladonna is actually Bellatrix Lestrange née Black who has been de-aged and _oblivated_ of all memories back to the age of six, I will close all my accounts and transfer their contents to the Banking Gnomes in Switzerland. That includes not denying the fact by saying things such as 'we cannot confirm or deny' or 'that is private information' or any other method that _might_ imply that she is Bellatrix without actually saying so or denying that she is. I expect Gringotts and its employees and agents to simply say 'Her name is Belladonna Bellatrix Black not Bellatrix Black or Bellatrix Lestrange née Black. She is not the adult woman that was a follower of the self-styled Lord Voldemort, also known as Tom Riddle.' Or words to the same effect." Garry leaned forward before the Goblin could object.

"And, should the Houses already have passed to my successors and word leaks out about her identity, I have already filed the proper paperwork, signed by my sisters, Harry Potter, and Sirius Black, with my lawyers to close and transfer their accounts to the Gnomes."

That should protect her secret quite well.

He left Gringotts in a quite cheerful mood, leaving behind several very unhappy Goblins.

And should things really go badly, he had left a series of parchments with his lawyers for the Ministress Bones explaining how he had destroyed all the horcruxes and that Voldemort was as mortal as any other man.

(◎_⊙)

He heard a voice ahead, "B-blood of the enemy … forcibly taken … you will … resurrect your foe."

Damn, he was too late to stop the ritual completely. Still floating on his broom, he followed the tracking spell and soon approached the site of Voldewhore's rebirth. A Death Eater he didn't know was standing by the massive cauldron, which was boiling and bubbling. The moon was past half-full and contributed only a bit of light to the scene. Fortunately, the Death Eater had provided a few torches around the graveyard so he wouldn't be stumbling around in the dark trying to do a finicky ritual.

Harry, as he had been in the future-past, was bound tightly to a statue. The ropes were quite secure, but a silent cutting spell made quick work of them. "Harry," the older Wizard whispered, "duck behind this gravestone and then run straight away until your emergency portkey works — about a hundred feet after you leave this cemetery. _Don't take chances!_ Leave _me_ to deal with these buffoons."

Before he could deal with Tommy-boy he needed to eliminate Nagini. The snake had to be somewhere around here. Unfortunately, the enchantments on the graveyard and its environs rendered his _point-me_ spell useless at finding the snake. Only his special spells on Harry had allowed Lockhart to find him.

"Robe me!" he heard an annoyingly high-pitched voice say, almost like a little girl playing with helium. Garry glanced around the statue.

Merlin, but that was one ugly monstrosity standing in the cauldron. He wondered when the Wizard would realize things had not gone as well as he had intended. Standing in the cauldron was a . . . creature. It looked to be vaguely squirrel-shaped, but interspaced with patches of . . . fur? . . . were bare skin, and occasionally shiny scales. Considering the size of the cauldron, Garry should have been able to see the Wizard's legs, but instead all he could see was belly. Tom Riddle's new body was clearly more adapted to running on all fours than walking on two.

The pointy face reminded Garry strongly of the rather rat-ish appearance of Peter Pettigrew after a long decade stuck in his animagus form, but much, much more exaggerated. Tommy-boy, though, did not have that animagus excuse. His mouth stuck out somewhat like a rodent, as did his nose, the two looking much like a short snout. His ears were above his head, fully furred and tufted, while his eyes were shifted to the sides, giving him a much wider range of view than a normal human. His hands were more claw-like paws.

No pure-blood would follow such an obvious twisted-breed, no matter how powerful he might be.

If nothing else, Garry had severely inconvenienced the Dark Lord. Voldewhore would have to die and try again to resurrect himself, if only so he wouldn't have to spend the rest of his immortal life as a squirrel-snake-man hybrid!

When his command went unanswered, the Dark Lord looked at his servant's horrified face and realized things were not as rosy as they were supposed to be. He looked down at himself and screamed in anger. "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO ME!" He leapt out of the cauldron with a squirrel's quickness — oh, that wasn't good! — and tackled his follower, yanking the wand from his hand. " _Crucio_ ," he screamed, his voice edging higher into the nearly unhearable zone.

It was at that point that Garry heard a noise behind him. He turned. At the edge of the cemetery, he saw movement. It was Harry running behind another headstone. A huge snake followed him. Oh, of course. The _one_ direction Harry would choose to run was the one _guaranteed_ to meet Nagini. The snake was doing an admirable job of herding Harry back to the graveyard. Garry, still on his broom, shot off towards the two while unleashing a strong cutting curse at the snake.

Apparently, being a horcrux had improved the snake's reflexes — if it was a horcrux at this point. It was hard to tell with the evil taint that surrounded the graveyard. The snake whipped to the side. The curse sailed past it. Garry reached Harry and slid off the broom. "Here," he said. He thrust it at the little Wizard. "Take this and get the hell out of Dodge. I'll handle the snake."

Harry grabbed the broom. He hopped on and shot straight up. Garry dodged to his left. The infuriated snake, probably taking its cues from its still incoherently screaming master, slammed to the ground where they had been standing. Its fangs dripped poison as it hissed at him. It was as incoherent as its master. A deadly game of tag followed. It tried to tag him with its poison. He tried to tag it with a cutting curse. Neither made any real progress. The screaming by the cauldron stopped. Garry realized Voldewhore was aware of his snake's game.

Squirrelmort screamed above him. Garry threw himself behind a statue as curses rained down. The damn bastard had climbed one of the statues!

The snake lunged towards him, mouth open wide to bury its fangs in the trapped Wizard. Garry saw his chance, He threw the strongest cutting curse he knew straight into its wide-open mouth. Like the Basilisk before it, the inside of its mouth had little in the way of magical protections. The curse sliced through the back of the snake's mouth, severing its spine and major arteries. It flopped to the ground, sliding into Garry and knocking him over. And, incidentally, out of the way of Squirrelmort's curse, which blew apart the dead snake's eye instead. Voldemort fell off the statue on which he was standing, screaming.

Ah, so the snake was a horcrux! Just as had happened in the Harry's future, destroying a horcrux vessel at such close range had a devastating effect on the Dark Wizard.

Garry lay stunned on the ground for a moment, dazed. He had hit his head on the side of a gravestone. Slowly he got back to his feet. He knew he didn't have much time. He walked over to motionless would-be King of England. He started a _stupify_ when a bludgeoning curse hit him from the side, throwing him across the body on the ground into another gravestone. His armoured vest protected him from serious injury, but his side hurt like a bitch.

The Death Eater had apparently recovered from his Master's curses and had entered the fray. Garry cursed himself for forgetting the other Wizard. He rolled quickly to the side, scrambling to his feet. Another curse banged into the gravestone where he had just been lying. He dodged behind another gravestone and started firing off curses as fast as he could. In a matter of moments, he had the other Wizard doing the dodging and shielding.

He had just hit the other Wizard with a _stupefy_ when a powerful _bombardo_ curse exploded the gravestone he was using for a shield. Squirrelmort had awakened. Garry started shielding as he searched for his opponent. The next curse exploded his shield with a bang and threw him down. That was when he saw Squirrelmort. Damn but he was quick! The creature darted closer. He sneered, in a girlishly-high squeaky voice, "You! _You_ thought _you_ could best Lord Voldemort?" He screamed " _Avada Kedavra!_ " Garry grabbed a chunk of the shattered gravestone and threw it in a desperate attempt to block the curse. To both their surprise, it worked and exploded into dust. Garry scrambled back and threw a _langlock_ at the other. Voldewhore sneered, stepped to the side quickly and launched another _Avada Kedavra._ There was nothing at hand and Garry realized he didn't have the time to dodge.

That was when the worst possible thing that could happen, happened. A blur shot in front of Garry from his right and above. It caught them both by surprise. Voldemort again fell screaming to the ground. Garry watched as Harry Potter fell off his broom and tumbled wildly across graveyard. Harry had taken the curse for Garry. He had sacrificed himself without regard for his own life.

For a moment, Garry stood too stunned to move. Then he spun back to Voldewhore and cast the most powerful _stupefy_ he could manage. Then he did it again. And again. If something is worth doing once, it's worth doing twice. Or three times. Maybe even five. And what he should have done the first time Squirrelmort was temporarily out. This time, at the very least, Voldie would have the mother of all headaches when he awoke.

Garry reached into his expanded pocket and took out two halves of a glass sphere, each with numerous parseltongue runes etched into it. Those had taken quite a bit of research to create. He had finally discovered that all he had to do was be thinking in parseltongue when he cared the runes to make them unreadable by anyone not gifted with that skill.

He shrank Squirrelmort down until he would just fit inside one of the half-spheres, then levitated the creature into it. One half of the sphere had grooves that ran a short distance cut into the edges. The other half had matching tabs that were not quite as long. He lined up the two and pressed them together, then turned the top half until it stopped. A set of magic-charging runes were divided between the two halves. Turning the two hemispherical sections to their stops lined the runes up perfectly, top to bottom. He pushed magic into it until the next set of runes reacted and sealed the two sections into one seamless piece. After a moment, the next set of runes engaged and made the sphere unbreakable. The next set of runes made it impermeable to magic. Then there was a set that made it indestructible by melting or other actions. The final set prevented wraiths or any other spirit from escaping the prison.

Garry checked on his other opponent, who was still out cold. He hit him with petrification curse, then another _stupefy._ He would let the Ministry deal with the Dark idiot.

He again reached into his pocket and took out a second pair of half-spheres. These had the runes carved on the inside. He dropped the first sphere into one half-sphere of the new one, then put the other half-sphere over it. The two halves barely fit over the first sphere, but the charging runes lined up perfectly and powered the same sequence of runes that had decorated the first sphere. Now, no one could abrade the runes off and free the creature inside. Voldewhore was constrained, with no escape.

He dropped the sphere into his pocket and hurried over to where Harry was lying. A quick diagnostic spell showed no broken bones. It also showed no life.

Garry remembered his experience when he had died to get rid of Voldewhore's last soul shard. Meeting his parents before dying had been great. If he hadn't needed to finish off the evil bastard he probably wouldn't have returned.

This time, though, Harry had two very appreciative girlfriends, not to mention his new family in Bella, the Tonks, and his Godfather. This time, the school had rallied behind him time and time again. He hadn't been vilified in the press. Rita had gone a long ways towards making sure he was accepted by the Wizarding World. In other words, Harry should have everything to live for and no regrets at leaving his parents until sometime far in the future.

Smiling to himself, Garry cast his _patronu_ s, shaking his head slightly as the magpie appeared again. When had _that_ happened?

"Madam Minister Bones, I am at the Little Hangleton cemetery, beside the old Gaunt House Manor. I have captured and secured Tom Riddle, whom you know as Lord Voldemort. You might want to send a team here to survey the area and make sure there are no other Death Eaters in hiding." He watched the _patronus_ bird fly out of sight far more rapidly than any live bird could manage. Still, it would take a few minutes for the Aurors to arrive — at least fifteen considering the distance the silvery bird had to cover.

In the meantime, he carefully levitated Harry into a more comfortable position and cleaned him up. He healed the many scratches and cuts on the boy Wizard, including the knife wound inflicted by Voldewhore's minion. Now, all he could do was wait for Harry to return.

Garry conjured up a recliner. He wondered if Harry was meeting with Dumbledore — he made an expression of disgust at that thought — or if he was meeting his parents. Garry sincerely hoped the boy was finally meeting his parents. He settled down to wait, with only the noise of crickets and other insects in the otherwise deathly quiet graveyard.


	31. Chapter 31 Epilog --

**31\. Epilog - 2144AD**

Garry lay upon his deathbed looking at his family gathered in the large ballroom. His bed was tilted so that he could easily see across the room. What with grandchildren, great-grandchildren, great-great-grandchildren — heh, at 180 years old he had almost eight generations gathered in the room, not to mention the nephews and nieces contributed by his sisters — there were far too many Wizards and Witches to fit into his bedroom, even as enormous as it was. And that didn't include his many friends and business associates, especially Harry Potter and his four wives, Hermione, Luna, Daphne, and Gabrielle. Sirius had passed on long ago, but the Black family was also in good attendance. Now a Grey family, as were Harry's and Garry's, they had been instrumental in dragging the Wizarding World into accepting the non-magical as worthy of their respect.

The party was in full swing — Garry had insisted upon it being a party — with two bands alternating sets between current hits and oldies for the more mature set. Watching both his descendants and Harry's mixing and enjoying themselves set his heart to glowing with happiness.

Harry's fifth year had been just like his third — quiet except for the normal drama teenagers get up to in a boarding school. Daphne Greengrass had started hanging out with Hermione and Luna in Third Year as the peer pressure of the Death Eaters' children faded with their fortunes. The Tri-Wizard Tournament hadn't changed that, except to give him more support.

She and Hermione had always battled for first place in their classes and a friendly rivalry had emerged and then blossomed into an odd friendship. Early in Fifth Year she had apparently confessed to Hermione about liking Harry. By Christmas the trio became a quad.

Fleur and Garry's wedding in the Spring of 1996 had brought the little Veela back into contact with Harry — and his three girlfriends. She had stayed at Grimmauld Place with the Tonks, Bella, Sirius, Remus, Harry, her sister and Garry for the summer. Gabrielle had transferred to Hogwarts during Harry's sixth year and by Christmas had joined 'Harry's Harem' as the other students had started calling them. Harry's three Lordships — it turned out there was a magical tome in the Ministry that listed Heirships, and Lockart's filing of a Will with the Goblins had triggered it —had inundated him with marriage offers. Fortunately, the bribes paid to the Goblins had managed to delay that revelation until _after_ Harry had finished his OWLS. Accepting Daphne and Gabrielle as official girlfriends in sixth year along with the already established Hermione and Luna had brought him peace and quiet as he was then, officially, off the available list.

The summer before Seventh Year had solidified the arrangement into official betrothals. Waiting for Gabrielle to graduate had delayed things only a bit in the scheme of life, and gave Harry a chance to establish himself as a Seeker in professional Quidditch for several years. The quad wedding of Harry and his wives, the summer after Gabrielle passed her OWLS was the social event of the year. All four wives giving birth to their first children, two girls and two boys, just ten months later was another major event for the Wizarding World.

Despite having four wives, and having babies at a rate that rivalled that of the Weasleys, or maybe because of it, Harry stayed in the Quidditch league for almost thirty years. Several people joked that he was growing his own Quidditch league, given how many of his offspring ended up being talented players.

Next, he joined the Aurors, but that lasted only a few years. It was far too grim an undertaking and he would rather enjoy life. Enforcing the law at the end of a wand was just _not_ his cup of tea. If attacked, he defended himself and his charges with an intensity and dedication that astounded others, but that his family took as normal for Harry.

He had finally settled down in the Ministry, exercising his power with his three Lordships to help the average Wizard thrive in the magic World.

Every time Garry saw Harry smiling, it made him happy. Fleur, and then later the rest of his family, at first had been puzzled at how closely he had followed Harry's family and career, and his obvious delight at Harry's good fortunes. When Harry hit a rough spot in Life, Gilderoy Lockhart-Slytherin always seemed to be nearby with helpful advice and assistance. And pranks. But they had accepted his rationalization that he had emotionally adopted the boy during his time at Hogwarts.

Lockhart had found himself terminally bored staying at home, so he and Fleur went exploring around the world. His talents with the Dark Arts had segued him into a career as a premiere curse breaker. Which led to a never-ending supply of book releases chronicling his accomplishments. He had ended his illustrious career with forty years as Hogwarts' most beloved Headmaster.

When Fleur had died of old age, Garry had found his life remarkably empty. His descendants had tried to help, but the light of his life was gone and it showed. Only seeing Harry and his wives could bring him out of his doldrums.

And now it was his turn to "go to the next great adventure." He found himself quite looking forward to it. The children's band had just concluded their set. It was still early for most of the crowd and not yet midnight. But it was time. He was tiring and couldn't stay awake much longer.

He reached out and touched a rune that cast a sonorous on himself. A soft, but penetrating "gong" echoed through the room. The crowd quieted and turned towards the stage.

"Thank you all for coming tonight. I know you all have more important things to do than listen to an old man's ramblings, but I did want to say a few things. First, people have been asking me, and Harry, what happened to that Dark Wizard Voldemort? Everyone knows he kidnapped Harry Potter, and that a battle took place, but we've never said what happened. Did Voldie run away again? Did Harry Potter once again vanquish the evil monster? Or had Harry finally destroyed the git?"

He had the crowds' complete attention.

"I chose not to say so that the next Dark Lord, or Lady, would think twice about making a power grab. Most knew of Voldemort's temper and none wanted to test it. That worked for several decades. Long enough for us to put societal safeguards in place that have prevented any new truly evil Wizards or Witches from appearing. With vigilance, that will continue for a long time."

He paused and took a small sip from the glass beside his table. It was a mild Pepper-up Potion. Too strong a one would give him a surge of strength that wouldn't last more than minutes and would doom him when it wore off. As it was, the Healers said he only had a few days left, if that. And he didn't want to rush it, even if Death was an old friend.

"The Dark Wizard known as Lord Voldemort was indeed vanquished by Harry Potter, but it was about a week _after_ the kidnapping. It went like this . . . ."

(⊙_◎)

"Why are we so far down in the Ministry, Gil?" Harry asked as he followed the older Wizard. The Unspeakable accompanying them was levitating a glowing spherical crystal just in front of them, which unsettled him. Whether it was the crystal, which kept drawing his eyes for some reason, or the Unspeakable himself, Harry wasn't sure.

"Well, Harry, that's a deep subject," was Garry's casual reply.

Harry groaned and said, "That's terrible, Gil."

The spinning doors had surprised Harry and made him unsteady on his feet — assisted by a small spell Garry had casted on him before they entered the Ministry. Harry had then distracted the Unspeakable by grabbing his cloak and neither noticed the subtle spell Garry cast on the sphere being transported.

They entered a small auditorium that was empty except for chairs centred on a platform that held an archway. The arch drew his attention immediately as the grey curtain across it seemed to sway and move in a breeze he couldn't feel.

"This, Harry," Lockhart said quietly, "is called the Veil of Death. The Unspeakables believe it is a doorway to the realm of the dead. If you listen, you can hear voices coming from it, but you can never determine what they are saying. It draws you like a moth to a flame. If you aren't careful, you could find yourself inadvertently stepping through it.

"Sit," he said, pointing at a chair and sitting down in another. The Unspeakable remained standing. Harry sat, looking at Lockhart questioningly.

"Harry, as you know Voldemort didn't die in 1981 when he tried to kill you with an Unforgiveable Curse. The reason is simple. He created these things called Horcruxes, soul anchors. They're also called soul vessels. He did a terrible and very evil ritual in which he split a piece off his soul and stored it in something else, such as that diary that Ginny Weasley had in your second year."

Harry gasped, his eyes wide. "Ginny released the Basilisk?"

Garry nodded, "Under the control of part of Tom Riddle's soul, she had no choice. If I hadn't taken the diary from her, the diary would have taken her very life force and killed her while creating a new body for the soul fragment in the diary."

Harry leaned back, stunned.

"And he didn't just do it once. Or twice . . . ."

Harry reflected for a moment, then said softly, "Oh my god! My scar . . . ."

"Indeed, Harry, indeed. That was why I _focused_ on recovering the founder's items in your Second Year. As well as the diary, Tom Riddle had invested a piece of his soul in Hufflepuff's Cup, Ravenclaw's Diadem, and Slytherin's Locket — he had a sick fixation on the Founders' items. Gryffindor's sword was the only item he did not befoul, and that was because he couldn't find it. There were three other items he did this to, as well. Well, two I knew for sure at that end of Second Year, the third I wasn't sure of until we were in the graveyard after you were portkeyed away.

"One was the Gaunt Head of House ring, which I destroyed. The third was that giant snake, Nagini, that was chasing you in the graveyard. The second one was an accident. He had prepared the ritual in advance and only needed the final component to complete it. But he died before he could do that."

Harry nodded, waiting for his friend to continue. Lockhart seemed lost in thought.

"And I was the second, wasn't I?" he finally prompted.

The older Wizard took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I wasn't going to tell you, at first, before we ended up at the graveyard. I had hoped that I could head Tom off and trap him. If I could trap him, then he would be harmless. He would be isolated from the world under a heavy Draught of Living Death potion as well as a stasis charm, and never again would you have dreams or nightmares from him. I planned to keep a careful eye on you while I searched for a way to remove that final fragment without harming you.

"Unfortunately, he managed to get to you before I got to him. And, well, you know the rest.

Harry sat silent for the longest time. Then he looked up at Gilderoy. "So why are we here? You killed Voldemort, right? And I don't have that soul fragment anymore, it's gone."

Garry looked away, at the arch, for several moments, then turned his attention back to Harry. "There was a prophecy concerning you, Harry. Your favourite Divination teacher at Hogwarts had spoken it back in 1970.

"Trelawney," Harry said in a disgusted tone.

"Indeed. It was why Dumbledore hired her — to keep her out of Voldewhore's clutches, because who knew what he might do with the seer if he found she had a real talent.

"I won't bore you with the prophecy itself, it was a rather typical piece of drivel. Unfortunately, a Death Eater overheard part of the prophecy and carried the tale to Lord Voldefraud. The superstitious twit believed it and set about making it a self-fulfilling prophecy. If he had ignored it — well, he would be ruling the world now.

"The full prophecy said that someone born at the end of July would have the power to vanquish the Dark Lord. Two boys fit that description — you and Neville."

"Neville?" repeated Harry, stunned.

"Yes. And that's why he killed your parents, he planned to go after Neville, next."

Harry stared back at him, too surprised at the revelation to say anything.

"Both sets of parents had gone into hiding, as you know, to protect you two infants. And were betrayed. That part of the story you know. And that was why he was so obsessed with you, it was you who sent him off. It was a major blow to his pride, and he had to set that right. What you don't know is that your scar was a sign that Voldewhore had marked you as the one who had the power to defeat him.

"I . . . learned of this situation and decided to take a hand — but I didn't know about the Horcruxes at first. It was ludicrous to believe that a child not yet in his teens could battle the second most powerful Wizard in the world and win! So, I stepped in to see what I could do. As soon as I saw you at the Flourish and Blotts I knew things were in dire straits. When I arrived at Hogwarts I could feel the same taint of evil lingering there. Then I found the Diadem and discovered it was a Horcrux! Well! I knew I was in for a struggle.

"But I am Gilderoy Lockhart! I don't give up! So I started hunting the horcruxes, and taking care of his Death Eater followers. All the Death Eaters were criminals of the worst sort; rape, murder, torture, each of them did _all_ those deeds. There were no _innocent_ Death Eaters. Some of them might have been pressured by their families into accepting the Dark Mark, at first, but they still participated in evil deeds, and eventually grew to consider them justified. And then, when Voldewhore disappeared that Halloween, they escaped punishment with lies and bribes.

"So, I became judge, jury, and executioner.

"I have a terrible stain on my soul," Garry said tiredly staring into Harry's eyes, "but better it is _me_ than _you_." He paused a moment thinking. "You are my redemption, Harry. I need you to live your life to the fullest, to love and be loved. To have the family you never had. Do those things and everything I have done will be worth the sacrifice."

Harry stood quietly, then stepped close and hugged the older Wizard. "I don't care what you did, Gil, you are still the best Wizard, man, I have ever met."

Garry took a deep breath, deeply moved. "Thank you, Harry," he said as he hugged the boy back. He wasn't about to cry, it was merely dust in his eyes that was making them wet.

He cleared his throat. "And that brings us to the here and now."

Lockhart reached into his pocket and pulled out his glass sphere. It was opaque. The magics had fully charged, now, and nothing could get in or out of it, not even light. He gazed at it a moment, smiling. He handed it to Harry. "Throw this through the veil, Harry."

"What is it?" Harry asked as he took it and turnined it over in his hands, examining it.

"I'll explain in a moment, just toss it through the veil."

Harry shrugged, and threw it underhand in a short arc that hit the veil in the centre. The voices from the veil got much louder, and the veil itself billowed outward as if hit with a great wind. Then it gradually quieted and settled down.

Garry said as he turned to look at the crystal ball being levitated by the Unspeakable which remained brightly glowing. "Oops!" he said, as if embarrassed.

The Unspeakable gasped, "The Prophecy is still active! He's not dead! There must be one more Horcrux!" He turned to the other Wizard, rage building in his tone, "You said you had accounted for them all!"

Harry was watching with eyes wide, horror creeping into his expression.

Smugly, the prankster wizard said, "Oh, I did," as he flicked his fingers at the crystal and removed the spell he had placed on it earlier. The glow abruptly disappeared, leaving it dull and dark.

"You idiot!" the Unspeakable said in outrage. He pulled out his wand and waved it over the hovering Prophesy Sphere, and studied the glowing runes that appeared.

"It is done," the Unspeakable growled angrily. He reached up and grabbed the crystal ball and dropped it into a pocket in his robe. "It is just as you said, Mr. Lockhart." His voice was clipped and as insincere as possible. You didn't have to see his lips to know he was sneering as he said, "Thank you." Harry had the impression that the Unspeakable was barely restraining himself from hexing the infuriating Wizard.

Lockhart smiled widely. "Harry, Voldemort, also known as Tom Riddle, has been removed from this plane of existence by your hand, as prophesized." And then laughed at the stunned expression on the boy's face.

"While you were dead, I stunned, shrunk, and sealed Squirrelmort into an impregnable prison, that glass ball. The ball was indestructible by magic, from either inside or out. That was my original plan, after all. And now that all his horcruxes are gone, it was safe to dispose of him.

"Although, it _was_ tempting to just keep it on my desk at home as a trophy. Everyone would see it and not realize that the most dangerous Dark Wizard in centuries was inside that innocuous black ball that I used as a paperweight." He sighed mournfully at the loss.

After a moment's pause, in which his audience of two stared at him incredulously, he added defensively, "It was only a _thought_! Anyway, we know all the horcruxes are gone because the Prophecy Sphere is now dark!"

He, of course, couldn't tell them he knew exactly what all the horcruxes were because he had already destroyed them in another version of the future. Let them _think_ he was so arrogant as to assume he had destroyed them all when he might have missed one. Maybe they would think twice, themselves, before doing something just as monumentally stupid in the future.

Gilderoy said, "There is one more thing to do." He pulled a wand out of his pocket. It was very old and very worn. Harry stared at it a moment before exclaiming, "Isn't that Dumbledore's wand?"

The Unspeakable seemed to give a start, it was difficult to tell.

"No, Harry, it isn't his wand," Garry explained. " _His_ wand is buried in his tomb." He brandished the wand, holding it vertical in two fingers by its handle. He casually flicked underhanded it through the veil. "That was the so-called 'Elder Wand,'" he said as the wand vanished through the grey curtain. "Dumbledore won it from Grindlewald. It was also called the 'Wand of Destiny' and 'The Deathstick.'"

From the way the Unspeakable moved it was clear he was as dumbfounded as Harry. "You had the _real_ Elder Wand!?" the Unspeakable said incredulously.

"Not any more!" Garry said, smirking. "And now it has been returned to its rightful owner. The swath of death and destruction caused by those seeking and using that wand is at an end." He smiled to himself. "A promise is a promise. And I always keep my promises. Even to myself."

He looked over at the Unspeakable. "And, yes, before you ask, not only do I know where the other two items are, I had all three in my possession at the same time . . . and for quite some time." He turned and looked back at the veil. "And now no one else will ever have that opportunity — not that it meant much anyway." He turned back to the Unspeakable. "Mr. Croaker," the Unspeakable gave a small start at Lockhart apparently knowing who it was in the cowl, "you can officially record that the Elder Wand, the Wand of Destiny, the Deathstick, the wand _allegedly_ given to one of the Peverell brothers by Death _itself_ , has been tossed through the veil.

He sighed and rubbed the side of his face tiredly. "It really wasn't all that powerful, anyway. The innate power of the Wizard or Witch using a wand is of far more import than _any_ magic in the wand wielded."

He looked over at Harry, who was staring back and forth between the two Wizards.

"Come, Harry, our business here is completed." He turned and the two of them headed back up the stairs of the small chamber leaving the Unspeakable behind to catch up.

It was as the doors to the lift to the rest of the Ministry were about to close that he called out to the Unspeakable, "Oh, by the way Saul, if you and the Ministry are nice enough to Harry and me, I might just let you have the Resurrection Stone. It really does let you call back the dead and converse with them." The Unspeakable turned and appeared to be looking at them as the doors closed. You could almost imagine his jaw dropping open in surprise.

"But first, Harry," Lockhart said, turning to small boy beside him, "How would you like to speak with your parents for a few minutes when we get home?"

(⊙_⊙)

"And that was how Harry Potter-Peverell-Gryffindor-Delacour cast Tom Riddle through the Veil of Death." He left out his remarks regarding the Resurrection Stone, of course. No need to bring up the whole Master of Death situation.

" _Complete_ details on how I, Gilderoy Lockhart-Slytherin, three-time awardee of the Order of Merlin, First Class, Member of the Dark Force Defence League, Award-winning author, twenty-time winner of _Witch Weekly's_ Most-Charming-Smile Award, Hogwarts' most beloved Headmaster, Slayer of Basilisks, detector of Dark Wizards, and Curse-Breaker Extraordinaire, managed to detect, track down, and defeat the most _dangerous_ Dark Lord of our time is in my forthcoming book, _Dancing with Death_! It will be available in all fine bookstores.

 **END**

(-_-)

 _Thank you for reading this. I really had fun writing it. I am gratified to hear that so many found it entertaining and funny — after reading the same thing ten times, I can't tell if something is funny or not anymore! And I wasn't sure if anyone but me would find it funny, anyway._

 _Several readers criticized that Gilderoy was romping through without any real opposition — well, if you already know most of your opponents' moves and secrets, it_ is _rather easy to trounce them. The problem is not getting cocky getting caught by surprise when someone does something you_ didn't _expect._


End file.
